Clementia
by Flamedancer33
Summary: The Allspark shard is being passed around like a bad cold. Megatron is enjoying the hospitality of former Sector 7 agents. The twins are roaming around unsupervised. What else could possibly go wrong? Oh, yeah. Everything.
1. Void

So I was writing a new chapter for my Simmons-centric story All in the Job (should be going up sometime this weekend) and I started chatting with someone about the possibility of bringing Jazz back. Only in my warped brain could 'bring Jazz back' equal 'human Jazzy hotness'.

And as a warning, this chapter was meant to be… let's be kind and call it disorganized. I wanted it to confuse readers, and having read it back myself, I can quite easily say it's succeeded. Ignore the butchered grammar and overuse of commas, both of which have been utilized to give it a rougher feel.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything TF-related. Cha cha cha.

--

The darkness was omnipresent, pressing down on him from all sides, and for a moment he wondered if the twins had pushed him out of the airlock again- they thought such things funny. But that couldn't be right; they would have had to shut off all his scanners and sensors first and even with their hard-won knowledge of anatomy they wouldn't be able to force him into this total blackout. He tried to move but nothing happened, not even an error report scrolling across his CPU.

'_What… happened?'_

A sharp, evil laugh came then, sending pure terror cascading through him but Primus dammit he still couldn't do anything--

"_You want a piece of me?!"_

'_Huh?'_

_Lights exploded, the sun perched high in the sky, the familiar flash of energy cannons, the dazzling display of metal reflecting light rays like handfuls of shattered glass. The air was spinning, the ground snapping past as something dragged him up and around and he was doomed, he knew it, but he was going down with a fight._

Memories rushed in, warped and twisting around one another and he knew there was something he was forgetting, something he should be feeling but somehow couldn't.

_And there it was, a sleek silver vehicle that was so elegant it almost looked Cybertronian if one ignored the rubber 'tires'. These creatures had a flair for the aesthetic that most every other race lacked, including his own. Despite their primitive technology they had style. He liked that. Now if only he could remember what they were called- usman? Mahun?_

Humans, an unknown voice informed him. From Earth.

Yeah, that sounded about right. If he pushed he could almost remember what they looked like, but at the moment all he was getting were the ghosts of memories. Small. Organic. There were two variations, right? Like 'bots and femmes? And they didn't like it when certain medics commented on the hormonal states of their frail bodies.

'_Medic? What's his name again? Wrench? No, something else. Doesn't matter anyways.'_

Oh, how he had envied those humans. They had a thriving culture based not on the tattered remnants of an everlasting war, but on their own ingenuity and sense of self. He had wanted to live there, to immerse himself in that world. With those people, whose lives were so pathetically short yet so… so… well-lived. Even before the war Cybertron and its inhabitants simply didn't have the vibrant culture, the raw personality, that Earth did. In the brief while he'd been there he'd had a grand old time downloading music, watching movies, laughing at some television shows and being more than vaguely grossed out by others. Like _House_. That right there was one show that could give a mech nightmares.

Sad, the voice commented mildly. You remember that but not your teammates' names?

'_I kinda remember them. There were three, right? Wrench, and the bug-bot, and the walking cannon.'_

And what of your leader?

'… _leader?'_

_The mech was tall, by far the biggest single 'bot he'd ever seen. Just seeing him and a 'bot would never guess how much he loathed fighting. A sentimentalist at spark, an idealist struggling to fend off the cruelties of reality without losing the simple innocence that defined him. His outrage at what most others quietly accepted, his refusal to do nothing when he could do something, his inability to let others fight their own battles- it made him a serious hazard to himself. _

_It also made him Prime._

'_Prime? There was another word, something Prime. Why can't I remember?!' _

Access to your memory banks is a bit, shall we say, _questionable _as of this moment. I have found this to be a rather unfortunate side effect of dying.

'_Eh?'_

You almost had it a little while ago, before you started thinking about your vehicle mode. Perhaps a certain word is needed to trigger the proper memories? Let's try this one- _Megatron._

_And there were memories, all right, many of them and not all of them the right ones. He remembered a giant standing over a battlefield, the only living being within sight. He saw bodies sent flying with one effortless swing, a fierce-looking jet carving through the sky with bladed wings. A foot, carelessly pressing his ally into the ground with one clawed hand descending--_

_An immense pressure pinning him down. A sickening ripping noise, metal shrieking and glass shattering, with the distant realization that he was being _torn in half_--_

That's quite enough, thank you. I've seen plenty this monster is capable of; he's sent a large number of your allies to me, as well as a surprising quantity of his own.

'_So now what?'_

And the voice was finally silent, thoughtfully so, as they both contemplated… whatever. The 'bot's thoughts wandered down a long, familiar path and he wondered what happened to those who died. Was this how he was going to exist for the rest of eternity, dredging up random memories to share with a quietly sarcastic voice?

The formal speech pattern and disdainful tones reminded him of someone. He recalled white, and blue, fading from sight. A half-vanished memory, he asked himself, then discarded that thought. The mech in the memory faded but the rest of the image remained crystal-sharp. Familiar, somehow, but before he could figure it out the voice was back.

I have come to a decision, it announced. I am going to give you another chance.

'_Another chance at what?'_

At everything, since it is quite apparent you handled it all so poorly the first time around. Not everything that happens is actually meant to be, you understand.

'_I do?'_

We'll pretend you do. Now, I am powerful but not infinite, so some things are going to be… different. And I have to maintain balance, so you won't be the only one.

'_The only one what? Ya know, this conversation would go a lot smoother if _both_ of us knew what we were talking about.'_

I can't help you afterwards so you will be on your own. Try not to bungle this too badly; you're leaving my domain, so if you die again I will not be able to do anything.

'_After what? And waddya mean die again?'_

Serve Prime well. And offer him my thanks, if you remember this.

'_Who _are_ you?' Now_ he thought to ask what should have been first on the agenda. His answer was a deep laughter, rippling all around him.

You already know the answer to that question, although you refuse to consider the possibilities. But it makes no never mind to me. Now, I must ask you- do you remember your own name?

'_Jazz.'_

--

The universe twisted on itself, a snake trying to shed its itching dead skin. Dimensions that barely existed previously were gutted and left lying open like a fisherman's trophy. The various balances of space and time altered themselves ever so slightly, giving way to a power that could shatter them should it so desire. Existence itself teetered on the brink carelessly, barely clinging to itself, its naturally fragility nearly allowing it to be rattled apart.

In a distant corner of the universe, on the rim of an all-around uninteresting spiral galaxy, within the sheltering confines of a blue-green gem of a planet the laws of physics rewrote themselves as matter was pulled out of nothing. A body slowly knitted itself into being, appearing unaware of all the fuss it was causing. And in its heart, invisible to all but the one who had put it there, a spark in place of a soul.

Deep in the darkness, something smiled.


	2. Human

Two notes of Things to Not Expect:

a) the dreaded OC- she's a one-time thing in this story. All others will be canon characters.

b) fast updates- I am a nitpicker. I will go over everything before I post it with a fine-tooth comb- which is frustrating since I almost always end up missing something. The only reason this is going up so fast is because my laptop is going in to be repaired_ again_ and I wanted this up before my only Internet lifeline became my mother's clunky old desktop.

Kudos to whomever can guess at the identity or our oh-so-mysterious voice, and to whomever can explain to me what a kudo is and why it's an acceptable reward system.

And to those who noticed- balance is an evil thing. It will be coming soon. --insert evil cackle here--

Disclaimer: No own, no sue. Seriously. It would suck.

--

Pain.

Ah yes, good old pain. It had been missing for a while now, leaving a hollow chasm in its place. An eerie sensation, knowing he should be hurt, should be in agony, yet feeling nothing. Maybe he was a masochist, maybe he was just an idiot, but he found it easier to deal with the pain than the nothingness. Pain meant he was alive.

He shifted his aching body ever so slightly, testing it to see how much it hurt. The response was sufficient to make him grunt. All right, some pain was a good thing, but this was a little much. He frowned, trying to shut off the offended pain sensors, but something was wrong. Very wrong.

A little trill of alarm was building up in the corner of his mind. Unyielding pain. Sensors and systems that weren't responding, almost as if they weren't even there. Other sensors he hadn't known he possessed picking up on stimuli normally too minute to perceive. No soft whisper of even his most necessary support systems- instead a rhythmic thumping he could just barely feel. A definite pressure welling up in his torso, complete with a black panic beginning to claw at his consciousness as he realized some vital process was malfunctioning-

_Breathe, Jazz._

And he did, although he had not the faintest clue how. Something within him seemed to click and he gasped deeply, drawing in the much-needed oxygen. He coughed convulsively and curled onto his side, drawing his knees up and pressing his face against them in a display of flexibility no mech could have managed. The little trill was changing rapidly into a full-out clamor and the feeling of wrongness was climbing exponentially.

Slowly Jazz rolled back over, holding one hand up in front of him and almost fearfully activating his optics to see his hand.

His _human _hand.

Jazz watched, torn between amazement and abject horror, as his fingers curled into a fist. The skin was extraordinarily sensitive- he could feel the deeper lines in his palm clearly, felt the wind as it gently brushed past. He shifted his weight forward, leaning on his other elbow as he peered down at himself. Human, every last inch- and he could see every last inch, too, for whatever had dumped him here hadn't bothered with the inconvenience of clothes.

Something feather-soft brushed against the back of his neck and he jumped, most of him leaving the ground before coming back down in a much less organized manner. His elbow jarred itself against the ground and a peculiar sensation swept over his entire arm, pain overlapped by bright spangles and the odd feeling of the flesh of his arm trying to go in eight different directions at once. He gritted his teeth- now he was glad he'd watched that marathon of _House_ while in orbit because he knew what everything was, if not what it did- and waited for the residual tingling to stop. As he waited the touch came again, this time along his left shoulder blade. He reached back, already knowing what he was going to find now that he actually thought about it, and tangled his fingers into his hair. The texture of the individual strands sliding over his skin made him grin.

He was human.

Jazz wedged both hands under him and shoved himself to his feet. The maneuver took a good deal more coordination than he had originally thought and he overcompensated horribly. Instead of standing gracefully he found himself still propelling forward, arms pinwheeling madly, and a stray thought ran across his mind- _it'd be a shame if I trashed this body 'fore I even got to see it, never mind _use _it_.

But humans were an agile race; he managed to twist around and land on his left shoulder in place of a full-on face plant. The impact slammed his breath out of his lungs and sent a fresh wave of sharp-edged tingles through his arm. Jazz merely lay there, waiting for his breathing to even out again and the pain to stop. After a few moments the pain took on a different note, duller and deeper and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He carefully sat up and scowled at his shoulder, where a viscous crimson fluid was slowly welling up. One little slip was all it took to break his skin and make him bleed? Humans were more fragile than he had first thought.

Out of curiosity he touched the red stain on the ground, feeling the warmth of the blood. He also felt something else and, with a bemused frown, ran his palm over the ground. The surface was rough, made of some form of mineral composite that left tiny sharp points jutting up. An odd little shiver worked its way down his spine as he felt the coarse material grab at his skin. He could easily imagine how much damage this stuff could do to the sensitive skin of his face or- other areas.

"Oh, for God's sake."

Now Jazz jumped again, landing much less painfully this time, and twisted around to peer over his shoulder. A human stood there; it looked female, but the only way to tell was removal of her clothes and Jazz doubted she would appreciate that. She already looked annoyed, if he was reading her facial expressions correctly. Her stance certainly warned of her temper- hands on her hips, chin tilted down and slightly to one side, weight rocked forward onto the balls of her feet. She looked just like Ratchet did right before the medic unleashed holy hell upon his unfortunate victims.

Jazz's charm and his way with words normally kept him from being on the receiving end of such kind treatment. Time to see if those talents had been lost in translation.

"Uh, hi." He grinned at her, mentally cranking up the charm and praying she didn't turn out to be violent.

"What are you doing up here?" the woman snapped irritably. Bad start, Jazz mused to himself. Then he replayed her words and frowned, looking around himself. Transfixed as he had been by his new body he hadn't spared a thought to his surroundings. 'Up here' was, in fact, a correct term as he appeared to be sitting on the roof of a fairly tall building.

"I have no idea," he answered honestly. The last thing he remembered was… what? He frowned down at his hands, trying to think. The fight in Mission City, but something told him there was more than that.

_Not everything that happens is actually meant to be._

"So you have no idea how you wound up butt-naked, sitting on the roof of my apartment building?" She rocked back onto her heels, her words a clear challenge.

"Apart…?" No, he didn't, but he could bullshit with the best of them. "Oh, man. What's th' name of this buildin'?"

"Terrace Apartments." Her words were clipped now, prepared for an elaborate story. This would be a hard woman to lie to.

"I got a friend who lives here," Jazz informed her. "Loves prankin' people. This is prob'ly his idea of a joke."

He didn't want to make up a story too full of holes, but if he didn't give her enough information he had a feeling she would quite cheerfully escort him to the street and leave him standing there, still naked.

"What apartment number?"

Slag. Apartment number? Since when did apartments have numbers? And how could he be expected to know? He'd studied the human culture, not memorized every facet of it.

"Seven?"

"There is no apartment seven." She folded her arms across her chest, looking thoughtful now.

"I dunno, but it's got a seven in it." He beamed at her, reciting the words _cute and harmless_ in his head. As though his thinking it hard enough would make her believe it. "I've only been here once before, an' it was a long time ago, so…"

"The building is six months old." Oops. She was back to suspicious now. As there seemed to be nothing he could say to that, he merely laughed weakly and shrugged. She huffed out an annoyed breath and turned away, muttering something about teenagers as she did so. Jazz frowned as he considered that- he was by no means an expert at judging human ages, but he would guess she was less than a decade outside of teenager-hood herself. "Just… stay here," she ordered briskly before vanishing down a stairwell near the back of the roof.

Jazz waited until he heard a door slam before delicately trying to stand up again. He would need to be able to handle at least one set of stairs, and he had no desire to fall flat on his face in the process. He managed to balance himself, silently mourning the loss of his stabilizing servos, and had actually taken several trips around the roof before the human returned. She tossed a large piece of cloth at him- a sheet?- and he wrapped it around his waist.

"All right," she said after studying him for a few moments. "I'm gonna let you use the phone in my apartment, cause I can't just kick you out onto the street like this. And maybe my roommate will have clothes your size." She gestured for him to follow and started back towards the stairway. "And just so you know, I just finished a tour in Iraq, so don't go thinking I'm a weak little girl."

"Never crossed my mind," Jazz assured her. True, she was small- she barely came up to his chin- but something told him this girl could bend him into a pretzel without trying.

"Good. By the way, I'm Jade."

He considered making a smart-ass comment about the similarity of their names but instead answered simply.

"Jazz."

--

The roommate wasn't home, so Jade called him to ask if he didn't mind some of his clothes disappearing. She got put on hold and gave Jazz whispered orders to go see if he thought anything would fit.

Upon entering the roommate's room, Jazz decided that several items would indeed fit, but there was no way he was wearing them. After a moments' stunned disbelief he picked out a particularly aggressive number- rhinestones and sequins and pleather- and stared. Then he peered back into the closet.

Last time he'd checked, not that he checked often but this wasn't exactly the sort of thing that changed overnight, it was the female of the human species that had what men affectionately called 'boobs'. Jade had said several times that her roommate was male, yet the clothes in the closet were designed for a woman. A very generously proportioned woman.

There was an odd noise from behind him, a sort of shuddering _chunk-chunk_, and he turned to see Jade holding up her cell phone and smirking at it.

"I got through, and he says you can take something as long as I took a picture first." She waved her phone at him. "I figured you weren't really in a position to say no."

"Uhh…" Jazz tried to word his question in such a manner that wouldn't set off Jade's hair-trigger temper and failed. In lieu of words he jabbed a thumb towards the clothes hesitantly.

"Yeah, he's a showgirl at the MGM Grand," Jade answered his non-question in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Show _girl_?" Jazz found himself grinning at this. Cybertronians had no genders and therefore didn't have set standards for them. Humans, on the other hand, had an invisible but strict line between male and female, a line which Jade's roommate apparently ignored. Somehow this appealed to the former 'bot. Not that he was about to go running around in high heels and sequined miniskirts, but still.

"Yeah. I'll find you some guy clothes, why don't you go wash off your shoulder?"

So Jazz wandered into the bathroom, scuffing his feet against carpet and tile. Even the most sensitive of his sensors wouldn't pick up the textural difference, but to human skin it was blatantly obvious. He turned on the water after a moment's hesitation and scooped up a handful of it, intending to wash off the tacky blood, but stopped when he saw himself in the mirror.

Cobalt-blue eyes stared back at him. Human eyes.

There had been no other option, Jazz rationally knew. But finally seeing himself as human forced him to accept basic facts. He was an organic creature now, a being with a very limited life span and no fighting skills. Was he stuck this way, or could he go back to being a mech? And exactly how often did murdered 'bots come back as a different species? He was an Autobot first and foremost, so joining up with the others was inevitable. But could he do any good once he got there?

Something else in his reflection dragged him away from his musings. His skin was a shade similar to the human dessert called chocolate. His mind supplied the images of several other humans he had seen- in this country they were called African Americans. It simply meant they were of African descent, as opposed to the Eurasian people. There were more races but these were the big two in America- and not too very long ago something as simple as this would have radically altered how people like Jade treated him. Even today there was still a wall between the two that few managed to breach.

Jazz shook his head and began to gently probe the wound, his mind still churning over the facts. He was still a saboteur, still knew how to work a computer even though he was now limited to human technology. He was also still an intelligence expert, and while he was no tactical genius like Prowl, he was clever enough to handle himself in most situations. Between his natural skills and the vast amounts of information he had downloaded about this planet he could certainly survive being one of its natives long enough to reach Prime.

The MGM Grand was a hotel in Las Vegas, about twenty miles northeast of Mission City. If Jade's roommate worked in Vegas odds were he lived fairly close to the city. The Autobots, on the other hand, were probably settled down fairly close to the small town of Tranquility, home of Sam Witwicky.

Assuming they hadn't headed back to Cybertron.

That thought chilled him and he went ramrod stiff, staring at the wide-eyed face in the mirror. If the Autobots had taken the Allspark back to Cybertron- and there was no reason not to with Megatron dead- then Jazz was left to the rest of his too-short human life, made all the shorter because up until twenty minutes ago he hadn't existed.

_Wait… Megatron dead? How do I know that? Last I heard of 'im he was in fine form, rippin' Autobots in half and havin' the time of his life._

… _saw him? Where?_

_I have to maintain a balance, so you won't be the only one._

Jazz opened his eyes at that, a soft voice that was so familiar despite the fact that he could swear he'd never heard it before. Once again he felt that he was missing something, that he had forgotten an important event…

Whatever the case was, he _knew_ Megatron was dead, the same way he knew his name. He had a sickened feeling that the evil mech had managed to take the Allspark with him, one last defiant gesture of how much he loathed the Autobots. So Prime and the others were still here.

Another chill chased itself down his spine as a different thought occurred to him. How was he even alive? He'd already written off his return as something he would most likely never understand, but the fact that he had retained all of his memories and his personality implied that he still possessed his own spark in place of a human soul.

If that were true he was in a whole different world of trouble. Without his safeguards to protect and shield himself his spark would be a neon target sign hanging over him- anything with the basic scanners could pick him up. And he had no idea who else had died in Mission City save Megatron- for all he knew Starscream could fall out of the sky and land in his lap at any second.

Conversely, this should make him easier for his teammates to find as well, although last he'd heard an F-22 fighter jet was just a smidge faster than a semi and a Camaro.

A brisk rapping on the bathroom door jarred him out of his meandering thoughts. Jade pushed the door open just far enough to slide a handful of clothes in.

"There's a brush and some hair ties in the drawer if you need them. Keep the clothes; nobody's worn them in forever anyways."

Getting dressed was a lesson in pain tolerance. He decided to brush his hair first and quickly arrived at the conclusion that whoever thought tangle-free hair was necessary was most likely bald. His eyes were watering at the sharp tugging pains before he declared himself through with that. The hair tie- a small elastic hoop- required a bit of fumbling, including several loud _snaps!_ against his hands before he got it to cooperate, leaving him with a ponytail just long enough to brush his shoulders. All of that, however, had nothing on the clothes themselves. After a few moments of trying to work the zipper on the jeans he yanked a little too fast and got a fair amount of skin caught in the metal teeth.

It took Jazz several minutes before he realized those odd whimpering sounds were coming from him.

Jade was in the living room, flipping through channels on the television when Jazz finally left the bathroom. He frowned at her irate muttering and glanced at the TV screen.

"More meteor sightings. Ya know, last time this happened a town near here got trashed by some government experiment gone wild and… what's with the goofy look?"

Jazz supposed his elated little grin did look a bit demented, but he couldn't help it. Those 'meteors' looked exactly like the ones he and his teammates had caused. If his fellow Autobots were arriving on-planet- and he highly doubted these were Decepticons, not with Prime in this general area- then he was in luck.

"And when did this happen?" he asked, mostly because Jade was scowling at him.

"'Bout a month ago. Just like with the full moon- one weird thing happens and the governmental crazies go wild and end up dancing naked in the corn fields. Or destroying small cities. Whichever works best for them."

Jazz considered this for a moment, then decided. Reinforcements or not, he couldn't take the chance of a 'con picking up on his energy reading and getting the brilliant idea of attacking.

"So… thanks for the clothes," he said finally. Jade glanced at him and nodded.

"Well, it's been real," she drawled. "What with the voices in my head and all," she added in a much quieter tone. Jazz started at that but before he could ask she went on. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Jazz padded over to the door, pausing only once to frown at his feet. She had given him a style of shoe called a 'flip flop', and he simply didn't like them. Still, he couldn't exactly explain that he might need to run for his life from a fighter-jet-turned-giant-robot so he stayed silent. At the door, he paused.

"Hey, Jade? What'd that voice sound like?"

She sent a sharp look towards him, then softened slightly and shrugged. "Like a voice. Like a kid fresh out of a private school with a million-dollar vocabulary."

Like the voice he kept hearing.

Jazz thanked her once more and left. He was halfway to the elevator when his midsection issued a strange growling noise. The sound stopped him dead in his tracks and he stared at the offending area, in which an odd gnawing sensation was growing. Was that hunger?

Clearly this being human thing was going to be a good deal more difficult than he had expected.


	3. Balance

I'm a bad, bad person. I have absolutely no patience. I was gonna wait to post this, maybe till Monday cause I won't be able to update for a little while, but I just couldn't. So here ya go, a couple days early.

There are only about eight million different personifications of Megatron out there and picking which one I wanted to write was tricky, especially since in the '07 movie he didn't really havea personality. (side note: no, folks, 'evil' is not an accurate descriptor, as there are multiple varieties of evilness.) This makes Megatron either the easiest or hardest character to write, depending on how you view it. For me it turned out to be immensely difficult and yet extremely fun. The hardest part actually was trying to gauge how much human terminology he would know, as he is not a culture-loving, adaptable mech like Jazz.

Disclaimer: Me no own, me no wanna get sued, you no sue. Okie? Good.

--

This was not actually humiliating. He had decided upon that within moments of awakening.

No, humiliating had been having the Allspark within his reach and losing it because he'd underestimated one little planet's atmospheric temper tantrums. Humiliating had been being trapped and helpless and at the mercy of some of the weakest creatures he had ever seen, organic or otherwise. Humiliating had been _dying _at the hands of one of those creatures.

This was not humiliating. This was a universe beyond that.

Megatron kicked his foot out, trying to shake off the odd sensation of something being buried in the appendage without having to touch any of it. He was leaking organic fluid from more places than he could count and the pain was a never-ending assault on his processor, or whatever it was organics had instead. His armor in this state was nonexistent, he had no way to protect himself, and he was probably ridiculously easy to track. All things considered, he would have preferred to remain dead. But there was a balance to be maintained, he had been informed by that laughable excuse for a deity, and he was one of weights that was maintaining it. And laughable or not, that being could fold Megatron into a speck of space dust, so the Decepticon really had no choice in the matter.

All of this, he thought darkly, because he had been arrogant. He had foolishly assumed that because he could actually _see_ the Allspark, it was his. And then he had assumed that he could easily defeat Prime and his band of weaklings. He also hadn't bothered to download any information about this pathetic planet and its inhabitants during the short flight to the fight that cost him his life. Instead, he mocked Starscream for having abandoned his more graceful Cybertronian jet form for the clunky Earth version- an important thing, keeping the seeker in his place, but he was regretting it now. He had been arrogant, almost as much so as that insufferable Starscream, and he had paid the price. Not only had he been destroyed by an insignificant fleshling, he had then become one.

This was just plain insulting.

The pain became suddenly too much and he had to stop, sneering at his weak organic body as he did so. He rested one hand against a nearby plant… thing… and picked up the offending foot. A long needle-like piece of plant matter was buried in the flesh, that oddly-colored red fluid sluggishly leaking out from around it. With a grunt Megatron picked it out- if there was one good thing that could be said about his new form it was that he was far more agile and maneuverable than he had ever been before, although he would never admit as much to even himself. If he had still been a mech removing such an annoyance would have taken more effort than it was truly worth.

From his left came the abrupt noise of organic chatter. His head snapped in that direction and he stared, trying to see through the screen of plant matter without actually having to move. He had been lost in this Pit-slagging plant tangle ever since onlining and he now had no intention of losing track of his one way out.

The noise was growing fainter, forcing him to follow. His foot ached with each step but he ignored it. This pain was nothing compared to what he would do to those fleshlings when he found them. True, they were in no way responsible for his situation, but he had never been the sort to make such distinctions.

Besides, he just needed to hurt something.

He finally found them along a rough stone roadway. There were two of them, leaning against the side of an earthen vehicle and talking with each other. The smaller one noticed him first and poked the second with its arm. They both proceeded to stare at him.

Megatron, for his part, was studying them. The bigger one was a real threat; the Decepticon had no idea how organic creatures were meant to handle themselves in a fight but he was confident that bigger meant stronger. Thus that one needed to die first, although he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Somehow simply stepping on them didn't seem as viable an option anymore.

"Dude… where's your clothes?" The bigger one was talking to him now, and the other one was giggling. Megatron sent it a look that silenced it immediately. It was good to know that, even without his true form, he still commanded a proper amount of respect.

"Clothes?" He studied the two fleshlings. Their bodies were covered with some sort of woven materials while his was not. Maybe that was their form of armor.

"Is he a druggie or something? Look at his _eyes_!" The smaller one leaned over to whisper to its companion but Megatron caught everything it said.

"Yeah, clothes. And you're, like, bleeding everywhere. Even your eyes are red- are you all right?"

Megatron looked down at his hands. So leaking this red fluid was called 'bleeding'… and what exactly were his eyes? He looked back up and gave them a predatory smile.

"Well, since I don't have any clothes, give me yours." He needed _something _to protect this fragile body. The smaller one groaned at his words.

"Oh gawd, it's the Terminator."

They both burst out laughing at that and Megatron instantly felt his temper explode. He may be stuck in this pitiful form, he may be nothing more than another insect to his fellow Decepticons, but he _was not_ going to be laughed at. Not by these creatures. He crossed the ground between them in three large strides and, following some unknown urge, wrapped one hand around the bigger organic's neck. The other he used to catch the smaller fleshling as it gave an audio-piercing shriek and tried to run away.

The bigger organic tried to hit him, actually managing to hurt him when its clenched fist found one of his numerous wounds. The pain only doubled Megatron's fury and he lifted the creature until its feet were dangling uselessly.

Then the smaller fleshling, the one he had foolishly dismissed, brought its leg up and _kicked _him.

The world exploded in a dazzling display of color and pain and Megatron was down even before he knew it, kneeling and curled close to protect the affronted area. The little organic was screeching at the other one and they were running- staggering in the bigger one's case- and he simply couldn't move-

"Ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGOD! Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Hurry up! Get the keys get in the car ohmygod he tried to kill us-- _Jimmy look out_!"

But 'Jimmy', the bigger organic, was too slow and Megatron caught it by surprise. One hand snagged it by the back of its neck and he slammed it forward, its face making contact with the side of the vehicle. Something gave a satisfactory _crack _and the fleshling went limp, slipping out of Megatron's grasp and falling to the ground where it began 'bleeding' from a wound over one of its closed optics. The Decepticon saw with a slight hint of disappointment that the cracking noise had come from the vehicle itself, where a large jagged line ran along one of its viewports.

The smaller organic screamed again and bolted, heading back into the plant maze. It was fast and fueled by fear but Megatron had a rage that proved faster; despite his wounds and his late start he caught up with the fleshling before losing sight of the vehicle. He grabbed a fistful of the odd organic fibers sprouting from its head and yanked the creature around, snarling with irritation as it screamed again and began babbling nonsense. It clawed at his hand with the surprisingly sharp tips of its fingers; he seized its wrists with his free hand and hauled it back to the vehicle.

The Jimmy was moving and making a low moaning sound. Megatron couldn't decide if he was pleased or annoyed that it still lived. The other one had stopped fighting him and instead was giving a muffled gasping sound, some form of organic fluid leaking from its optics. He frowned at that; it wasn't bleeding, for the fluid was clear and flowed too fast. Exactly how many types of secretions did organics produce? Then he shrugged it off; he had more important issues to worry about.

_Balance_.

If Megatron had been brought back to balance out something, then it stood to reason that another mech had been revived as well. That it had happened _now_, to him, implied that the other mech had died around the same time as Megatron himself. He could only think of one that fit both the timeframe and the need for balance.

He seized the smaller organic's head growth again and wrenched it around, slamming its back against the vehicle. It started to scream but he had long since tired of that game- he wrapped his hand around its neck and simply waited until it was gasping for air. The necessity of circulating oxygen had become readily apparent to him within moments of finding himself trapped in this miserable body; clearly organics could not go long without it. He had to force himself to let go, for it had been this fleshling that had actually hurt him, but he couldn't afford to kill it. He had too many questions, not to mention a possible opportunity. Samuel Witwicky, the one organic Megatron would dearly like to get his hands on, would be guarded at all times. The Autobots probably wouldn't expect an attack from a fellow fleshling, but Megatron simply couldn't take the risk. For now, the boy would live.

"Now, I am going to ask you some questions," he informed the creature. It was back to making those gasping noises, which irritated him. He shook his fist, thumping its head gently against the vehicle a few times, until it shut up. "The more you answer, the longer you live. Understand?"

It bobbed its head up and down. Megatron scowled at that and, realizing the problem, the organic sniffled and murmured an agreement.

"What are you?" He decided to start simple. The organic frowned in confusion.

"I'm… my name is Clarice."

"Not your name, idiot, your _race_."

"Oh, uh… hu- human."

"Human." That sounded right. He considered this for a moment, calling upon the information Barricade had managed to pass to him during his short glimpse of freedom. "How far are we from Los Angeles, _human_?"

"Los Angeles is on the west coast," it provided after a moment of gaping at him.

"And we are…?" This was getting annoying.

"In Vermont. Uh, near the east coast. We're almost twenty-five hundred miles from Los Angeles."

He had no idea how long a mile was, but it seemed fairly impressive to a human at least.

"Very well. Now, you are going to operate this vehicle and take me to Los Angeles, understand?"

The creature was no longer leaking optical fluid. The thought of surviving had calmed it down.

"Why?"

"Because there will be someone else going there. Someone I want to see dead, _again_. And once we get there you are going to help me find him."

"Dead again? But how-"

He shook the human's head again, hitting it harder this time. It whimpered in apology, and he was momentarily struck by the similarity between this pitiful specimen and Starscream.

"Never mind how," he barked sharply. "All you need to know is that if he does not die, you do."

It stared past him for several long moments before fixing a hollow gaze on him. "Who?"

"His name is Jazz."

--

Sam couldn't sleep.

This wasn't unusual. In fact, for the past month he'd been surviving on Starbucks and energy drinks. Bumblebee had commented on this more than once, in his stuttery voice that he was almost allowed to use. Sam was thus obligated to point out that, as often as his insomnia was caused by closing his eyes and seeing Megatron, there were plenty of occasions where his sleep was interrupted by a blaring stereo or honking horn.

At these accusations Bumblebee would play his why-are-you-blaming-me-I'm-just-a-lifeless-car routine.

Still, it was terrifying to try to sleep and hear that voice, sadistically offering him to keep him as a pet. And he couldn't count the times he'd shouted himself awake after a nightmare. Like if Optimus hadn't gotten there in time to catch him, or if Starscream had bothered to look down and see him cowering behind that car in the street…

But Megatron was dead and the Autobots' ship, the Ark, had reported a Decepticon signal- almost certainly Starscream- rapidly leaving Earth's atmosphere. There were only three Decepticons unaccounted for: the cop car Barricade, the spastic Polly Pocket-sized monster Frenzy, and a heavily-damaged-possibly-dead Scorponok somewhere in a Middle Eastern desert. As none of them had flying forms all three were trapped on-planet, Ironhide had informed them. Then Bee had added that Frenzy might be leaving Earth, as his erratic behavior was new and still irritating enough that Barricade would probably end up drop-kicking the little mutant back to Mars.

The unfortunate side to this was that everyone knew something had happened to him, but due to the government clamping down on all rumors about anything alien-like, no one actually _knew_ what that something was. And it wasn't like he could go to a therapist and explain that he was having trouble adjusting to the fact that he'd destroyed an alien race's only hope for the future. Granted he had done it to prevent the living personification of the word 'evil' from getting his hands on it, but still. The only people he could talk to who had any hope of understanding him were few and far between. Army Rangers Lennox and Epps were nice enough but were still Army and, as such, were under strict orders to not talk about any of it. Maggie Madsen, whom he had met for approximately ten minutes and spoken to twice since. Her 'advisor' Glen he knew even less. His own parents didn't even know that the kick-ass Camaro sitting in their driveway was actually a fifteen-foot-tall robot. The only real human he had to talk to was Mikaela.

Sam felt himself give the same goofy little grin he always got when he thought about Mikaela. She liked him, _liked_ him liked him, a dream come true fresh from a Disney movie. He still felt giddy just thinking about it.

Bright bars of light suddenly sliced across the far wall. Sam froze, his mind instantly going to the worst-case scenario. Then he forced himself to relax. All of the Decepticons on Earth were either dead or getting as far away from the Autobots as possible. Barricade, the only one big enough to have a car form, was certainly not stupid enough to be pulling into Sam's driveway.

A second later his cell phone started buzzing, indicating a text message. The teen snatched it off the table before it fell and stared at the screen. After a moment he stood up and padded his way over to the window.

"It's three in the morning, I can't just take off!" Sam hissed down at his guardian. Bumblebee didn't respond verbally, but he did send another text. The human scowled at the phone. "I don't care if Prime requested me, I have school tomorrow. I just- what?"

The interruption came from a third message and Sam now stared down at it device in his hand. His next words sounded distracted.

"New guy?" Pause. "Guys? How many are there? Where are they? And can this wait just twelve hours?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Sam almost jumped out the window. He certainly came close, banging his knee against the window frame. After a second of just breathing, he turned to face his would-be killer.

"Dad… a little warning would have been nice!"

"You're awful jumpy these days." Ron stepped past his son and looked out the window. Not surprisingly he didn't see anyone. "Are you talking to that car again? You know you worry your mother when you do that."

"It's okay, Dad," Sam responded. His cell phone started buzzing again; he put a hand behind his back, towards the window, and made slicing motions.

"It's not okay," Ron muttered. "You won't even tell us where you got that car or why it keeps doing weird stuff…" In the driveway Bumblebee honked his horn. "There, like that! Why does it do that?"

By now Sam was trying to usher his father out of the room, giving a spiel of apologies and excuses and basically trying to remove the adult from the vicinity so he could yell at his car and go back to bed. There was no way he could go hunting down newcomers with Bee, not with his normally overprotective parents doing double-duty and with finals looming just around the corner. Finally he shut the door, officially ending his father's half-lecture, and groaned in relief.

"Why'd you text me with my dad standing right there?" he demanded as soon as he was back at the window. Bumblebee answered verbally.

"It wasn't me."

Sam frowned at that and flipped his phone open again. Sure enough, instead of the long string of zeroes produced when a 'bot hacked his phone, the caller ID had an actual number: 077-4687.

As he read the message he felt a slight chill chase itself down his spine. He swallowed heavily and leaned back out the window.

"Can you trace the text? See who sent it?"

There was silence, then Bee answered aloud again.

"There's no trace of it."

"No trace… like the phone number is off line or what?"

Bee sent the answer in a text, no doubt trying to relieve the strain on his vocaliser.

_Your phone has no history of receiving a text from anyone except me. The message just doesn't exist._

"Well, I can see it here. I'll save it and show it to you tomorrow." Sam stepped back and closed his window, his hand wrapped tight around his cell phone. This was how it started last time, one little unexplainable weirdness. Followed shortly by giant alien robots and Cubes and an intergalactic war, yes, but it had started so small.

Because he had a feeling the message was going to disappear between now and at whatever point a 'bot saw it, Sam wrote both it and the number down. He then stared at the paper, still feeling tiny and helpless.

_Beware Barricade, for he is the harbinger. And know that your greatest enemy is now your kin._

Wonderful. A riddle. Just what he needed right as his life was finally settling back down. Sam gnawed on the pencil eraser as he tried to figure it out. As the strongest surviving Decepticon, Barricade was his greatest enemy… but could he be that and harbinger? And what did harbinger even mean?

"Ah, I give up," he muttered. He carefully tucked the paper into his backpack and went back to bed.

But he didn't sleep.


	4. Plans

I must really love you guys. Either that or I'm the world's biggest sucker. I typed this up on a ten-year-old desktop PC that doesn't even have Word. I ended up using Notepad, which was a lesson in anger management as well as an eye-opener on how much I rely upon auto-correct.

And I broke a promise to myself: I tried to write that psycho muppet Frenzy. I don't know how I did, honestly, because he's so weird and very few others have written him. Still, that part had to be done, not only because I love Barricade, but also because there's an annoying little requirement in stories with plots called setting the stage. The play ain't much fun if it's only got one actor, even if that one is Jazz.

Just so y'all know, I haven't got the faintest idea what a number four at McDonald's is, as I rarely eat there. Or even if the number four in one place is the same as in another_._

Disclaimer: This is getting old, especially since the message never changes: I own nothing.

--

She'd given him money.

Jazz was still having a hard time understanding all of this. About a month ago he died as a mech and about an hour ago he woke up as a human. He was on the roof of a building he'd never seen in a city he'd never been in. Then a human had helped him as requested by the voice in her head, a voice he also happened to be hearing. Now she had given him money, and he could easily guess how important this odd green stuff was to humans.

When he left the apartment building he had decided to get something to eat, then find someplace where he could plan out his next actions. He settled on a library, a place where the humans compiled information. Libraries were open to the public; plus he could access the Internet there through one of those awkwardly primitive computers. He could easily hack any firewalls between him and his goal- he had lost his technological advantage but not his intimate understanding of the digital realm. Even as human, armed with only a mediocre machine, he could have the world on a platter.

His plan, such as it was, started with finding Sam. Bumblebee was probably still acting as the boy's guardian, so from there it would be easy. The main problem was in traveling- this corner of the country had an environment that was not exactly friendly to humans.

Still, the more you planned in advance the greater the chances of something going wrong, as Jazz had cheerfully said several times. He couldn't help but smile as he thought of how Prowl twitched whenever he heard something like that.

And then it had occurred to him that he couldn't do anything if he couldn't pay for it.

So he had headed to a library, stopping and asking people along the street. Most didn't know but one pointed him towards something called UNLV, saying it had a library with public access. And Jazz found himself walking in a heat that made him feel like he had doubled in weight, stumbling over his flip flops almost as frequently as not. The hunger was growing to painful proportions as his throat began to ache with thirst and his skin was secreting a liquid that itched in uncomfortable places and plastered his hair and clothes to his body.

_Humans are fragile, Jazz, they need a lot o' maintenance,_ he reminded himself. _Not nearly as resilient as mechs_.

His eyes were burning, a deep throbbing pain he recognized, and he started to look for shade. When he'd been a sparkling he'd spent most of his time hiding in dark corners, and every time someone forced him out he kept his head down and would repeatedly ask if they could turn the lights off. It hadn't been until he became an Autobot that someone bothered to question this; in fact the first 'bot to care had been Ratchet. The medic had run scans and found the problem- Jazz's processor had a glitch that caused him to experience light and bold colors at several times the normal intensity. Rather than try anything complicated and risky Ratchet had simply given him a visor that protected his optics and toned down the light's impact. Jazz had always worn one since. Apparently that glitch was hard-wired into his being, because it was presenting itself again.

Trying not to wince with the pain Jazz slid into a store where the cool air and soft lights instantly made him feel better. He glanced around and took note of all the various useless little gadgets. A tourist shop, then, and he probably wouldn't find anything- hello, what's this?

"For a 'bot that s'posedly adapts to other cultures real well I can be kinda stupid sometimes," he muttered as he picked up his find.

Sunglasses. The ones he was holding were the wrap-around kind, with a highly reflective finish on the lenses, and he decided instantly that he liked it. Too bad he still couldn't buy anything. He put them back and slid his hands into his pockets, trying not to stare at the display case since he appeared to be making the clerk nervous. Then he frowned and pulled his left hand back out, several folded papers between two fingers.

Money. Three bills, one with a fifty and two with twenties, and one slip of paper upon which someone had written, _you seemed to need this more than me so don't even try to give it back_.

And now he was there, having a crisis of the conscience. The note and his basic necessity said to keep the money, but his inner Autobot wanted to return it. Finally the first side won and he picked the sunglasses back up, reminding himself that they were only optional as long as he didn't mind going around blind.

"'Bout how much would it cost t' get to Los Angeles?" he asked the clerk. The man stared back at him dully.

"How you gonna get there?"

That was a good question. Due to the insecure nature of their world the humans had gone paranoid, requiring small mountains of paperwork simply to prove they existed. They had an individual number assigned to them, records of when they were born, where they went to school, where they worked… If it wasn't so similar to Cybertron's war-time society Jazz would have found all this slightly invasive. Unfortunately for him he hadn't existed before today, at least not as a human, so he needed to find some way that didn't include providing valid identification.

"Not by plane," he answered as he tried to remember what options there were. While they had been orbiting the planet, waiting for Bumblebee's sign, Jazz had used his spare time to study the humans and their vibrant culture. However, it wasn't like he could've known to plan for something like this. His knowledge of the more mundane parts of human life was incomplete at best and so he kept getting caught up by it.

The clerk rang up the sunglasses and Jazz slid them on while the man snatched up one of the twenty bills. The saboteur rested one elbow on the counter and smiled at him, feeling immensely grateful for his education-via-television. Had it been Ironhide or Ratchet in his place they would have been doomed from the get-go. Prime had a way about him, a sort of quiet self-confidence that simply wouldn't let anything go too horribly wrong. People just _wanted_ to like him, which would have been extremely useful. Bumblebee would have had it easy enough but he'd also been on Earth longer than the others. He already knew this planet and its inhabitants' odd customs.

"Bus, maybe," the man muttered. He dropped a bill marked five and a handful of change onto the counter and eyed the pile of money. "You might got enough."

"And this bus… would I need ID to get on?" Jazz gathered up his money and slid it back into his pocket. He would need to be careful of thieves, but he didn't want to spend any more.

"You get busted by the casinos?" Jazz blinked and frowned. The clerk grinned at him toothily. "Lose yer false ID or something?"

"False… ah. And how old d'you think I am?" That age thing again. False ID's were generally used by young humans wanting to appear older. The clerk studied him and grunted.

"Nineteen?" Give or take a couple dozen millennia. Jazz merely shrugged. "Yer gonna need something, most of 'em don't take cash anymore."

Wonderful. So now his only hope rested on somehow getting a hold of Bumblebee and convincing him to take a side trip to Vegas in order to pick up his once-dead-now-human teammate. This was going to be a little harder than he had first thought. He thanked the man and left the store, grinning as the sunlight filtered through the glasses. Much better.

Then he spotted a familiar sign, a pair of golden arches recognizable from countless commercials, and his stomach growled. He paused for a moment, reminding himself that he wanted to save his money for when he needed it. Then he asked himself when he would need it more than now. Humans were living balancing acts; if he didn't take care of himself he was gonna be in trouble in short order.

Which was why he found himself in the McDonalds' lobby three minutes later, sunglasses slid down just far enough for him to look over them and read the menu. From there, though, he was a bit lost. Cybertronians didn't have food; they didn't even have something resembling it. They had energon and that was it. He had never before had to choose the manner in which he regained lost energy. But humans seemed fond of fast food, and really, it wasn't as though he could find anything cheaper or easier.

He patiently waited his turn in line, still trying to figure out what he wanted. By the time he reached the counter he had decided on a method that had worked for him previously: he leveled a brilliant smile at the clerk and asked.

"So what's your favorite?"

The girl stared at him in response. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he'd said something wrong, she answered in a highly insulted tone.

"I don't eat here," she said, enunciating each word carefully. Jazz leaned slightly away from her, the venom in her voice advising him to not ask why.

"Okay then," he drawled, refusing to be cowed. "Then how 'bout I just get a number four?"

She rang up his order, took his money, gave him his change, and plopped an empty paper-like cup in front of him all without saying another word. The novelty of being human had not yet worn off, so Jazz maintained his good mood despite her. He smiled at her again and snatched up the cup and the receipt and turned away.

His determination faltered when he saw the selection at the soda machine. There were eight different types of soda, and Jazz once again found himself feeling like he'd just been tossed into the deep end of the pool. He considered the various stories he'd seen on the news channels- Optimus had made him watch as much CNN as MTV, which had bored him right out of his processor, but at least the big guy hadn't outlawed the hijacked signal altogether. Jazz found himself caught in an internal debate- diet was healthier, but he didn't plan on staying human for too long and wanted to enjoy it while he could. Finally he decided that there was time enough for caution later and went with the classic Coke. He took a cautious sip and, having not even the faintest idea what to expect, nearly spat it back out.

Having never tasted anything before, he could by no means describe the experience. Instead he took a longer drink, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds until his tongue began to tingle oddly. He convulsively swallowed, then peered down at the cup full of bubbly brown-black liquid.

How could humans be so fond of this stuff?

Still he continued to take occasional sips of it as he waited for his food, and eventually realized it was growing on him. By the time the girl set his food on the tray the cup was half-empty. Jazz refilled it and picked up his tray, shooting one last cheery grin at the clerk just to see her glare at him, then sauntered over to the tables and sat down. The cheeseburger he'd ordered was wrapped in paper; he peeled it off and stared at the thing. With more than a few misgivings he took a small bite.

Less than a minute later, the whole thing was gone. The French fries were rapidly following suit. He was thinking about getting something more when he noticed an odd feeling, a sort of pressure low in his abdomen. Gnawing absently at a French fry, Jazz replayed all the episodes of _House _he'd watched- the closest thing he had to a how-to manual on organic bodies. He didn't like the conclusion he drew.

_What goes in must come out_.

He steeled himself, reminding himself that he had to take the bad with the good , and headed over to the bathroom. When he walked in, he found himself to be immensely grateful for the sunglasses that hid his eyes, allowing him to stare around the smelly place. He watched as a man came out of one of the stalls and left, not even bothering to wash his hands. Then he imagined what would happen if he walked out now.

This… was utterly disgusting.

--

If anyone in the town of Cavalier ever noticed the Los Angeles police car sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned construction site, they never mentioned it. They certainly never went _near_ the car, as even law-abiding folk were hesitant to approach a cop without good reason. Mostly it was assumed to be a joke, an old clunker given a face lift and positioned to scare the teenage vandals and the homeless drifters. And no one ever listened to the boy who insisted that when he went to spray-paint the side of the car, the damn thing _stood up_ and almost stepped on him.

This was exactly how Barricade wanted it.

He had chosen this place called North Dakota because it was a fair distance from the Autobots' new base but still close enough that he could keep watch over them. In fact, the parking lot straddled the line of his sensor ranges- one stride in one direction and he could no longer scan the Autobots' signals, meaning they couldn't scan him. Thus he remained there, mostly sitting just under the line, although occasionally he would step out of range and put out another call to his fellow Decepticons. He had not yet received any answers, but there really was nothing else he could do, so he persevered.

He hated this planet, really he did. As a scout it had been his job to come here first and see how well the Autobot scout Bumblebee had fared in his search for ladiesman217. During his stay here he had lost track of his partner twice, sorely underestimated that slagging Autobot scout and got slagged for it, watched his fellow Decepticons get slaughtered by a bunch of fleshlings, and lost both the Allspark and his leader. Then that coward Starscream had just taken off, leaving him to sit here and rust.

"Nnnnnn barri-barri-cade! Openopenopen!"

And this had to be the biggest reason of all. His partner had never been the steadiest of 'cons, but as he'd had his circuits scrambled three times since landfall, he had gone from twitchy to outright dangerous. The little mech was now dancing by Barricade's passenger door, his feet sliding as though he were standing on ice. When the bigger mech failed to react within a tenth of a second the hacker gave a shrill screech and stabbed one of his digit-blades into the keyhole.

Barricade roared and his door exploded open, swatting Frenzy with ridiculous ease. The hacker sailed through the air, trailing a line of curses and threats that probably would have been impressive if his words hadn't tripped over each other and become one big static-riddled pile of gibberish. After a moment there was silence, then the scout's sensors picked up the clattering noise of Frenzy approaching at full gallop. He waited until the last possible moment, when the little mech had launched himself into a flying leap, before slamming the door shut.

The following impact undoubtedly left a few marks on both of them.

There were a few minutes of confusion afterward, as Frenzy's new viewpoint allowed him easy access to Barricade's undercarriage. The scout, for his part, tried to avoid the quick little monster's attacks without doing any real damage to either of them, as neither remotely passed for a medic and any injuries they obtained had to be suffered through. Finally he lost his patience and transformed, snatching the smaller 'con up and dropping him into his anti-Frenzy tube.

It had originally been a large metal pipe, possibly intended for a sewer according to the Internet. Barricade had stood it on end, one hole pressed against the gravelly ground, with the intention of dumping the little hacker into it when he got too annoying. The pipe was too tall for the 'con to scramble out, too thick for him to stick his blades through and climb up, and too heavy to knock over. The best Frenzy could do was run himself repeatedly into the metal side, jabber angrily over the Decepticon internal line, and generally create more noise than Barricade would have believed possible for something so small.

The humans, a race that was a good deal more clever than the scout had credited them for, called it 'time out'.

Barricade was walking away when Frenzy's unintelligible shrieking became very understandable. The scout stopped and half-turned, studying the vibrating pipe as he considered its inhabitant. When Frenzy had touched the Allspark it had undone all the permanent damage and unscrambled his circuits. Then the little glitch had gone and nearly taken his own head off, causing the damage to return with interest. Before then he had been twitchy; now Barricade couldn't trust the scrapmonger with even the most basic tasks. After a moment the scout decided to at least hear the hacker out. If this turned out to be another false alarm he could simply cover the open end of the tube with plywood and head off to the other end of the parking lot.

"What did you just say?" he asked. The hacker stared up at him, standing still and quiet- a rarity even before his crash-landing on Earth.

"Wantout." Frenzy glowered at his large partner, all shades of sullen temper. "Getout and I tell."

"Tell me and I'll let you out," Barricade countered. The hacker didn't like that but he had no real choice.

"Sp-sp-sp-spark signal, northeastheadinghere," Frenzy said, in between a long string of random words that had no bearing on the conversation. Barricade ignored it.

"Spark signal? Autobot or Decepticon?"

"Nonononono. Just thumpthump."

"Thumpthump," Barricade echoed tonelessly.

"Thumpthump. Goaway comeback. Goaway comeback."

Idly Barricade wondered if anything Frenzy said made sense to the hacker himself. It certainly didn't translate well to stable CPUs. As there was simply no way they could communicate without data transfer- which Barricade had forbidden after Frenzy tried to send him a couple hundred viruses- the scout resigned himself to doing his own scan. He took a few steps away from the pipe and transformed back to car mode. From there he nudged his way beyond the Autobots' sensors and readied his scanner.

A few moments later he grabbed Frenzy's pipe, lifting it and tossing it aside casually. The hacker scrabbled over to him and began to beat rhythmically against his foot, an irritant he barely ignored.

"Wegoget goget?"

"No," Barricade answered and continued over the agitated chatter. "We no go get, we go follow- Primus frag it, now I'm talking like you!"

Frenzy cackled obnoxiously, then returned to thumping his bladed hand against Barricade's foot. The scout stepped aside and transformed once more, opening one of his rear doors in invitation. As soon as the hacker bounced in he slammed the seat back, sliding shut a compartment door and locking a loudly protesting Frenzy into his trunk.

Then Barricade pointed himself northeast, heading towards a spark signature that faded and reappeared in a rhythm eerily similar to the beating of a human heart.

--

Deep within the well of space, lost somewhere in the overlapping folds of various realities, a strange being sat on an even stranger object.

Technically the being could not sit, for it had no physical form. However, it could create and temporarily use one. It had done so now; it was easier to focus on the individual details and tune out the distraction of the bigger picture this way.

The object was a simple cube, returned to its place of creation by means of being almost completely destroyed. It was staggeringly big, taking up most of the room even in this odd place, and hummed with a bizarre energy.

The being- who called itself 'him' because it was easier- ran his fingers over the dented corner of the cube, feeling the ragged edges where a small scrap was missing. He didn't like the incompleteness. It bothered him in a way he wouldn't have imagined. If the cube could be destroyed, even briefly, then he wasn't nearly as immortal as he had thought. And that it remained damaged was an ominous sign, a warning of changes to come.

To an eternal being, change was never really a good thing.

But he had taken steps; started the ball rolling, as it were. He would restore the cube to its proper form soon. All he needed was for Jazz and Megatron to not completely fail at their appointed tasks.

He brought up their images and watched them, feeling frustrated. He couldn't help them anymore; his was the realm of machines and they no longer resided in it. Even more upsetting was the fact that he had actually come to care about those slaggers. Then again, most everyone liked Jazz. It was his growing soft spot for Megatron that surprised him.

_Maybe it's simply because all my hopes of a secure, and elongated, future rest on those them._

He groaned and cradled his chin in his hand. "Good luck, boys," he muttered. "I hope you don't fail, for your sakes as well as my own."

And then he released his hold on his form and dissipated, causing the image of the small planet to fade away as he shifted his attention back to the universe at large.


	5. Contact

Enter the Decepticon forces. Because really, what good is a Transformers story if you don't have some form of fighting? And what good is torturing Megatron if Starscream isn't there to point and laugh? Also, try not to pick out Soundwave's various issues. I know in canon he's about as talkative as a brick but he had to speak up here. No worries though, as Rumble will act as his mouthpiece for the rest of the story. And why Soundwave? Because he scares me. Seriously. I can deal with evil warlords and psychotic transforming jets but give me something that shows no emotion and I start twitching.

I have been to Las Vegas twice in my life- which is really sad, as I only just recently turned twenty-one- and I swear to God, I have never seen a city undergo such a radical change within one hour. During the day it's almost like, what? This sleepy little small-town-Americana is Las Vegas? And then the sun sets, the freaks come out and the neon lights go on and it's, ohh, _this_ is Vegas. Yes, children, it's Las Vegas indeed- the only bipolar city in the world.

Disclaimer: Oh look, another thing I don't own. That makes this what, everything? -sigh-

--

If it weren't for the fact that Starscream was about as creative as a piece of sheet metal, Swindle would have been accusing him of making this all up.

The seeker stood on the bridge of Soundwave's ship, trying to stare down the communications officer. He would have had better luck trying to stare down a wall, for it would have had more of a reaction than Soundwave. Granted, the visor and facemask hid anything he might have shown, but Swindle suspected that the officer had long ago had the emotional cortex in his processor removed. Someone that could not say the same thing was the biggest of Soundwave's band of symbiotic pests, Rumble. He had long ago left the bridge so he could laugh in the hallway. They could still hear him.

Since it appeared Soundwave had gone off into his own universe Swindle felt obliged to continue the conversation.

"So Megatron was on the planet?"

"Yes," Starscream hissed, all but vibrating with impatience. "As was the Allspark. And one of the planet's natives exposed Megatron's spark to the Allspark and killed him. How many times am I going to have to repeat this?!"

"Not like it becomes the truth if we talk about it often enough," Astrotrain put in from his corner. Starscream sneered at him.

"What of the Allspark?" Laserbeak, another of Soundwave's minions, shifted around to peer at the agitated seeker. "Was it destroyed, or is it possible to retrieve it?"

"Destroyed," the jet answered, looking as though he dearly wanted to shoot all of them. There was a heavy silence in response to this, as all the 'cons present tried to accept the fact that their race no longer had a future.

"I don't think we should be taking his word on something this important," Astrotrain said finally. Swindle looked at Soundwave, who was still superior officer on this ship even though Starscream officially outranked him. He was unmoving, his visor grayed out. Communing with the ship's main computer, Swindle realized; talking with the one machine onboard that he didn't regard with disconnected disdain.

"Optimus Prime is on that planet," Starscream said slowly, stressing the Autobot's name. "_If_ the Cube survived Prime now has it."

"Prime is one mech, not an army," Swindle countered. Even so, he doubted they would survive a head-to-head fight with the cursed Autobot and his team. He considered all the mechs on board- himself, Soundwave and his midgets, Astrotrain, Starscream, and Dead End, who was probably huddled in some corner predicting the doom of the universe.

"Our scanners have picked up three Autobot signals recently landing on the planet," Buzzsaw put in from the computer console. "Two of them are confirmed as the twins."

Someone hissed. Swindle winced, then tried not to smirk at the full-body flinch Starscream gave. Buzzsaw's words needed no explanation; while there were several twins within various Cybertronian cultures, the ones in question could only be the infamous Autobot frontline warriors Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They were well-known within Decepticon ranks; there were very few who hadn't heard the horror stories of how those two plowed through mechs bigger and tougher than themselves, leaving a trail of slagged 'cons in their wake. Oddly enough the seekers were a particular favorite of theirs, like sparklings playing with their toys. As much as they were known for their skill on the ground, the twins were almost as dangerous in the air; a surprising thing, considering they weren't fliers by any means.

There wasn't a single Decepticon on this ship who hadn't gotten worked over by those two.

"We're going to need reinforcements," Swindle muttered. Between the twins, that old glitch Ironhide, and Prime himself… A gestalt would be useful, but most of them had split apart long ago. Swindle's own former team leader Onslaught had fallen to Superion, the only gestalt whose team had survived and stuck together.

"Starscream. Report on Barricade and Frenzy."

Soundwave's toneless voice caused all of them to start. The seeker glared at him in irritation.

"I don't know what happened to them. _I _was fighting the Autobots for the Allspark. Barricade ran away."

"So he's a coward now, huh?" Swindle grinned darkly at the jet.

"We just received a transmission from Barricade," Rumble put in abruptly, and Swindle wondered when the little thing had snuck back in. "It's too jumbled to make anything out. I can run it through some programs and filters but it's not gonna get much better." This last part was directed towards Soundwave. The comms officer turned around and walked over to the main controls.

"We will travel to Earth," he said. "We will maintain a planetary orbit outside of Autobot sensors and attempt to communicate with Barricade. We will not engage the Autobots."

"Uhh… reinforcements?" Swindle took a half-step back as that visored gaze pinned him down. "We may not want to _engage _the Autobots but if something does start we need to be able to hold our own."

"We will not engage the Autobots," Soundwave repeated, his tone changing not one iota. And that was the end of that, for Swindle had long ago learned that 'emotionless' and 'tolerant' didn't mean the same thing. Unfortunately certain seekers had not yet had the opportunity to figure that out.

"Well, I say no," Starscream snapped irritably. Soundwave slowly turned to face him, his movements carefully measured and controlled. Swindle, who was standing near enough to the seeker to be within the potential range of fire, took one broad step sideways.

"You are Air Commander," the communications officer said, his voice slightly slower and more digital-toned, most likely to drown out any trace of his growing irritation. "Megatron is High Commander. Until his demise is confirmed we will proceed as before. If confirmation is received we will discuss matters then."

Which was Soundwave-speak for _my ship, my rules, shut up and get back in line._

Still Starscream didn't get the message. He snarled at the other officer and strode over to the control console. Swindle felt his grin grow as he nudged himself sideways to get a better view. As the seeker reached out with one hand, Soundwave apparently decided he'd had enough. A green light blinked once in the officer's visor and a small port on his chest slid open. Starscream had enough time to glance back at him before he was hit.

It was noise; under normal circumstances it was nothing more sinister than an off-key hum. As it was Soundwave, however, the noise was now a weapon. Swindle felt it across the room, a sort of soft feedback that caused his systems to stutter. How the 'con did it none knew nor were brave enough to ask. He had simply shown up with that ability, appearing on Megatron's warship without warning, and Megatron had accepted him into his exclusive circle of officers immediately. This had caused considerable discourse within the rest of the officers, and more than once Soundwave found himself a survivor of various attempts to _remove_ him. Megatron had tolerated this long enough for word of Soundwave's seeming invincibility to get around before informing the rest of his officers that Soundwave was going to act as communications officer and no one was getting bumped out of place because of him. He'd made a point of looking at Starscream while he said that. Unsurprisingly, the attempts on Soundwave's life stopped. And Starscream had probably thought that the newcomer had either forgotten by now or had simply never figured it out.

Starscream was a fool. An off-line fool now, Swindle thought humorously as the jet dropped to the ground. Challenging Soundwave had never been a wise idea. Dropping your guard around him after challenging him? You may as well kill yourself and spare him the effort.

"Swindle: take Starscream to the brig. Rumble: plot a course for Earth."

--

UNLV turned out to be University of Nevada, Las Vegas- an education center. It was also huge, as it consisted of several large buildings scattered around in a manner that probably made sense to its designers and no one else. By now, Jazz reflected wryly, he had certainly fine-tuned his handling of people. He could judge before they said one word how to ask his questions and how much charm to load into his voice.

It was a point of honor that he found the library. By the time he'd spent a few hours on campus he'd been getting a little worried; it would be dark soon and he had no idea where he was going to spend the night. Las Vegas was a quaint little tourist town by day, but come nightfall it would quickly live up to its name of Sin City. And as much as he was enjoying being human and getting first-hand exposure to their culture, Vegas' nightlife might be just a little too exposing. So when he found the library he felt inordinately proud of himself, as though he hadn't had to ask seven people for directions.

When he slid into the seat in front of a computer it was with vivid relief. Everything he'd done so far had been well beyond his field of experience; it was only his natural adaptability that had kept him afloat. This, however, he knew better than anything. It only took a few minutes to adjust to the methods this machine used. He was used to _being _the computer, not necessarily using one, but he figured it out quickly enough.

Google fast became his best friend. He spent about twenty minutes researching everything he'd once considered too uninteresting to waste any time on. Then he pulled up maps and studied the distant between Las Vegas and the small LA suburb of Tranquility. He eyed the desert and mountains separating the two cities with misgiving; there was no way he was getting around that by himself. After a moment's consideration he searched for anything concerning giant robots or cities getting half-slagged by unexplained forces and was pleased to come up with nothing new. Finally he went to an online white pages and looked up Sam's phone number, thankful that the boy had a unique last name.

After that he signed off and headed over to the row of pay phones by the entrance. It took him a few tries before he figured out the right combination of coins but after a minute there was a tinny ringing from down the line. A woman answered and Jazz pictured Sam's mother, waving around a baseball bat and yelling about her bushes. Both of Sam's parents were a little… off, but she seemed slightly more so than her mate.

"Hello?" She sounded guarded and Jazz braced himself for anything.

"Mrs. Witwicky? Is Sam there?" He tried for pleasantness, hoping it would ingratiate him. Judging by the almost full minute of silence he'd failed horribly.

"Are you with the government?" she demanded suddenly.

"The govern- what? No, ma'am, I'm just-"

"Because you sound government. If you are work for that jackass Simmons I'm gonna-"

"I'm a friend from school," Jazz interrupted, almost desperate to get the conversation back onto stable ground. There was no silence this time, but he still realized in short order that he'd made a bad move.

"Oh really? A friend from school? Calling to tell him about the classes he missed? Because he skipped today, you know. Did you know that?" There seemed to be no safe answer to that, but she moved on before Jazz could even go 'huh?' "He isn't even home now and it's almost seven thirty. If you see him you tell him he's grounded, and he's losing that car! I'm getting it towed the second he gets home!"

_That car_ might have something to say about that, but mentioning it didn't seem wise. "Look, maybe I can just call 'im myself if I could get his cell number."

"He's not answering his cell phone."

_I wonder why_. Jazz bit his tongue, refusing to say that out loud and ruining what little chance he had. Instead he tried an angle she might appreciate more.

"Well, maybe he'll answer if I call. Then I can tell him t' get home."

There was a silence as she considered this. Finally she asked the obvious question.

"If you're his friend, why don't you have his number already?"

Jazz had an answer waiting. "Got a new cell phone. I lost his number."

He ended up writing the number on his hand in pen, but at least she'd given it to him. He thanked her again and hung up, then rested his forehead against the phone's cool plastic casing and took a fortifying breath. Here came the hard part, he thought wryly; convincing a mech he'd known for a very long time that he was who he was, give or take a few odd changes. With more than a hint of foreboding he dialed the number.

The phone rang twice, then a vaguely familiar voice answered with a guarded, "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam." Jazz turned, wrapping one arm around himself and leaning a shoulder against the wall. "Can I talk to Bumblebee?"

There was a heavy silence. Then Sam found his voice and almost managed to sound confused.

"Who? I don't- who is this? I don't know anyone called Bumblebee."

"Let me rephrase that then," Jazz drawled. "Get in your car an' put me on speakerphone. I wanna have a chat with your Camaro."

"Who is this?" Now Sam sounded slightly panicked and more than slightly angry. Jazz massaged his temples with his free hand.

"You may remember me," he said. "My name is Jazz."

--

Jazz?

Sam pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it. Ever since the mystery text message early that morning he'd been leery of the thing, especially since the message itself had conveniently disappeared without a trace. He'd agreed to skip school- actually he'd called in sick- and try to track down the new guys in order to keep himself from thinking about it. That, and it was possible to snooze in Bumblebee's back seat and not get detention.

"All right, who is this? Really? Jazz is dead," he snapped into the phone. A sigh filtered down the line.

"Nothin' I can do t' convince you, which is why I'm sayin' put Bee on." The voice definitely rang a bell but it was simply impossible. Jazz was _dead_.

"How do you know about him? Are you- waitaminute. Are you some sort of Sector 7 freak out for revenge?"

"No, though I must sound real official 'cause your mom was askin' if I'm government too."

"My mom? You talked to my mom?" For some reason this made Sam even angrier. "If you said one word to her-"

"I was perfectly nice to your mother, but she's got a lot o' mean things to say to you. Somethin' about skippin' school and stayin' out late and getting' your car towed when you came home."

Sam winced despite himself. He'd barely been paying attention to what time it was, since the newcomers weren't responding to any form of communications. Their car modes were fast too, so catching them was proving to be difficult. Bumblebee seemed confident that he knew who they were and he wasn't amused by their antics- a bad sign, considering how mild-mannered he normally was. This whole day had been one big lesson in frustration. And now his mom knew he'd skipped class, which meant he was dead.

"Since it appears you're in trouble anyways, what say you have some fun an' take a quick side trip t' Vegas?"

"Vegas?"

"Y'know, Vegas. Big city in Nevada. Lights, gambling, drinking."

"I know what Vegas is," Sam interrupted. "Why would I want to go there?"

"I was kinda hopin' you'd pick me up." The person claiming to be Jazz was sheepish now.

"Pick you up? What, have you been impounded or something?"

"We'll go with th' 'or something'. Seriously, put Bee on. Or tell him to run a scan for a spark signal near Vegas an' see what he comes up with."

Sam once again stared at his phone. Was this some sort of joke? Were the new guys doing this?

"Slaggit. Sam, I gotta go. I'm outta change."

"You're _what_?"

"Look, tell Bee to do th' scan. If he can't find anythin' tell him to head out to UNLV."

"Why Bee?"

"Fine, tell Optimus, I don't care! I just need someone to-"

There was a click, followed by the recorded voice of an operator telling him the call had exceeded its time limit. Sam blinked at that- he wasn't aware Cybertronians _had_ time limits.

"This is weird," he muttered to himself. "This is really, really weird." And he was crazy for even considering that the person called Jazz might be telling the truth. But despite all the arguments to the contrary, his mind kept replaying the entire conversation and getting caught on several points. It had sounded like Jazz, or at least as much like Jazz as Sam had seen of him. And he'd been very knowledgeable- Sam could count on one hand the number of humans who knew the name Optimus. Most knew him simply as Prime.

Not to mention he'd given Sam a surefire way of catching him in a lie. The teen pocketed his cell phone and stood up off the curb he'd been sitting on. Bumblebee had pulled into a rest stop to take a break and try another method of tracking the new guys. Sam had been left sitting around and trying not to look too bored, lest his guardian get insulted and take him home before returning to the search. He tapped a careful finger on the hood and received no response.

"Okay, I just got a really weird phone call," he said without preamble. "He said he was Jazz."

"Jazz is dead." Bumblebee's tone was stiff and insulted. Sam spread his hands helplessly.

"I said that, and he just insisted I let him talk to you. He also said for you to run some sort of scan around Las Vegas."

Bumblebee didn't answer for a long minute. Then he swung his door open and Sam slid in.

"There's an unusual spark signal originating in one of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas' buildings."

"UNLV," Sam said to himself. "What's so unusual about it?"

"It has no shielding to hide it," Bumblebee answered, sounding distracted. "And it's not reading normally. It's appearing and disappearing."

"And that's a… bad thing?" Sam asked, confused now. He knew what a mech's spark was, but how could they scan for it? Wasn't that like developing a machine that could sense human souls?

"Sparks do not act in that manner," Bumblebee informed him. "Either they're there or they're not. They never fade in and out. It can't be Jazz." The last part was quiet, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself more than Sam.

"So. Road trip?" He tried not to sound too hopeful; he was in enough trouble as it was. If Bee said yes Sam should, as the good son he tried to be, ask to be dropped off at his house first. Maybe a block away, if his mother was serious about the tow truck.

"Optimus has asked me to investigate it." There was a brief pause. "You should go home."

"Yeah, I should. My mom's probably mad." Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then shrugged. Before he could say anything Bee slammed on the gas, twisting his steering wheel around wildly and throwing his passenger across the seat and against the far window. The teen had just managed to right himself before the 'bot did it again, tires squealing in protest as he pulled around in a u-turn at thirty-five mph. This time Sam ended up plastered to the driver's window. It took him a moment to peel himself off, and he immediately put his seat belt on, although by now it seemed a little late.

"What happened?" Sam rubbed at his cheek where it had impacted with the window. His guardian, who was driving down a two-lane country road, didn't respond. Right as Sam was going to ask again a cop car shot past. It banked sharply, performing a turn similar to Bee's of a second ago, and fell into place behind him. Sam peered at it worriedly. "That's not Barricade, is it?"

"No," Bee said, sounding amused. "And he'd be insulted if you suggested it to him. That is Prowl."

The name meant nothing to Sam, but the not-Barricade part worked perfectly fine for him. He stopped twisting around in his seat and instead stared forward. Unless he was mistaken he'd just seen- there!

"There's something up there," he said, unconsciously beating on the steering wheel in excitement. "Like a red car or something. It's coming this- hey!"

The cop car, Prowl or whatever, had pulled up beside Bumblebee and effectively blocked both lanes. Neither slowed down. And in the distance Sam could now see two cars, one gold and one bright red, both something low-slung and sporty and moving far too fast and they were gonna crash and _no one was stopping_--

"Bee!" He braced both hands against the dashboard, watching as the golden car ahead of them came barreling down, not even slowing.

"Don't worry, he won't risk a collision. It'll scratch his bodywork."

"_What?!_"

It turned out that Bumblebee was right- at the last possible second the other car veered off, sliding right off the road and bouncing to a halt in the long grass. Sam heard the familiar humming whine of a transformation but before he could turn to watch Bee was slamming on his own brakes.

The red car appeared a little slower on the uptake, or it didn't like the deep ditch it would drive into if it left the road. It turned a half-second to late and the cop's front bumper clipped the red car's rear. There was probably no serious damage, but both cars had been going fast enough that the impact swung them wildly out of control. The red car hit the ditch and flipped itself, rolling sideways several times before coming to a halt. Prowl merely fishtailed around a few times before sliding to a stop. He had stayed on the road, although he was spanning across it now.

Sam let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then the sun was blotted out as a large shape silhouetted itself.

"What do you think you were doing?" The words were hissed, sounding like an angry goose. Sam peered up at the shape. A tall mech, somewhere between Ironhide and Prime, although a little less broad than the black pickup.

"If you had responded to any of our transmissions we would not have had to resort to such methods," an unfamiliar voice answered. In what Sam had always imagined as a slowed-down video of a machine exploding the cop car began to transform. Bumblebee opened his door and the teen took the hint, slipping out and quickly getting off the road. Within moments all four mechs were in robot mode, with the red one picking grass and dirt out of his joints and rubbing at dents in his armor.

"We wanted to explore," the red one said cheerfully. Prowl folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head slightly back to stare at him.

"And it never occurred to you to ask?"

"Hey," Sam whispered. He picked up a pebble and flicked it across the road, where it clanked on Bumblebee's leg. The scout took a step backwards and knelt down to speak with the human. "Who are these guys?"

"Sideswipe, he's the red one, and Sunstreaker. They're twins. And Prowl is a tactician and second-in-command."

"Second? What about Jazz?"

"Yeah, what about Jazz?" Sideswipe put in loudly. "What's this about him being dead and in Vegas?"

"You- how did- you _bugged_ my cell phone?" Sam demanded incredulously. Sideswipe just shrugged.

"We were gonna go check it out," he explained. "Except then we found you guys. But hey, if you're going to Vegas, can we-?"

"No," Prowl interrupted. Both twins shifted and glared at him, but even though they were each a full head taller they accepted Prowl's answer.

"We should go," Sam put in hesitantly. "It's about a three hour drive to Vegas from… I don't know where we are."

"Maybe we can-" Sideswipe tried again.

"No."

"But you didn't-"

"Sideswipe," Prowl sounded tired now, like a babysitter close to being burned out by a pair of rambunctious three-year-olds. "First we will report to Prime, as you should have done upon landing. After that, if he says you may, you can go to Vegas."

Sam had the feeling Prime would sooner paint himself neon green and do the chicken dance in Central Park than allow the twins to take a trip to Vegas. Evidently this was a shared feeling, as both twins exchanged frowns and mutters of dislike. Still, they obeyed.

"I can take care of these two," Prowl said to Bumblebee. "You go see what this Jazz thing as all about."

Bumblebee nodded and transformed back, leaving his door open for Sam. The teen took a moment, still staring at the twins, to make his way over. Once he did he misjudged the angle and the side of his head hit the door frame with a decent amount of force. Sideswipe burst into merry cackles at that. Sam managed it on the second try, refusing to look at the red 'bot.

"All right, let's go," he said. Bumblebee gave a cheerful chirp of his radio and gunned his engine, kicking up a dirt cloud towards Sunstreaker. Within moments they were pointed in the right direction and leaving California fast behind.

Neither remembered to call Sam's parents. They were both too busy focusing on the road ahead, and the mystery that awaited them in Las Vegas. A mystery that called itself Jazz.

--

A/N: Gasp! Next chapter Jazz reunites with the other Autobots! Does this mean the story is coming to an end?

Uh, the end of the beginning, maybe. The playing field has officially been leveled and the teams were announced. The game itself has yet to begin.

And talk about your mental images… if anyone can draw that picture of Prime I'd pay good money to see it.


	6. Allies

Oi! MSN's being stupid. It started holding onto my e-mails for almost a day before giving them to me. I got eleven e-mails all at once, which is really bad since there's a little alert that pops up in the corner and if I get more than one at a time they stack up on top of each other. So all the sudden the right half of my screen is covered in little squares saying 'you received an e-mail from fan fiction' and I had to peel myself off the ceiling. (me, high-strung? not at all. -twitchtwitch-)

But on a brighter note, my laptop's back. Will my updates speed up? … not really. Will my stress level decrease? Most definitely. Will my writing style improve? Uh, maybe? The story's gonna pick up the pace now that all the major players are in their place. There's gonna be more scene jumps now per chapter, as opposed to just one or two, and sooner or later I'm gonna find the courage to write the most difficult character yet- Optimus Prime.

And as a side note, there are hitches in the time-flow of this story that can't be explained unless it's from the point of view of a certain all-knowing being. The general order is: Decepticons head for Earth about two weeks before this begins and Megatron revives a day before Jazz. This explains why Barricade only picks up on Megsy's spark signal when he clearly could have sensed Jazz's as well.

Disclaimer: I no own, so you no sue.

--

The police car had been following them for some time now.

It didn't worry Megatron so much as it annoyed him. It darted in and out of his awareness; a black hood glimpsed in the rearview mirror, a flash of white paneling off to one side. If it weren't for the big 'POLICE' emblazoned on it he really wouldn't have paid it any attention at all. They were on a busy highway, after all. But the police part made the Clarice nervous and that in turn annoyed him.

Nervous wasn't the right word; the fleshling certainly got antsy, but it was with hope. It- she- would watch the car whenever it appeared in the mirrors, staring at it to the point where she had almost driven them off the road once. If it weren't for the fact that he didn't want to talk so much he would have explained the meaning behind the purple symbol that was in place of the police sigil. Seeing the hope in her eyes die just wasn't worth the effort he would have to put into the conversation. Instead he took a perverse pleasure in knowing that she was hoping for rescue from one of his fellow Decepticons.

Barricade. It had to be. It certainly wasn't Starscream, and the other two potential survivors weren't big enough to support such an alternate mode. During that fateful day Megatron had ordered the scout to stay away; he would be of no use in a fight against Prime, and Frenzy was too valuable to risk. So Barricade had survived, and clearly he had picked up on Megatron's spark signal. Now he had to deduce where the scout's loyalties would lie- would he look out only for himself like Starscream, or was he dependable like Soundwave?

He was hanging back for now, no doubt trying to figure out what he was sensing. It was a very wise maneuver and good news for his leader. Until he figured out what Barricade's reaction to this change would be Megatron intended to keep his distance. This was, however, proving to be difficult. When he'd been asking how far it was to Los Angeles he'd forgotten to ask how long it would take to get there. It was now early in the evening of their second day of travel and Megatron had given up on finding Jazz in time. The 'bot was a clever one; by now he had doubtless established contact with his fellow Autobots. It helped that he could trust his teammates, the 'con thought darkly. So he had ordered the Clarice to head straight south, allowing Barricade to pace them as Megatron tried to figure out what to do now.

The one mech he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, would help him regain his true form was Soundwave. The communications officer had always been a loyal one, not even needing Megatron to beat that loyalty into him at any point. He'd had several opportunities to eliminate Megatron and take over himself, chances Starscream would have crawled through a smelting pit for, yet he seemed happy with where he was.

Maybe 'happy' wasn't a good word to describe Soundwave. Complacent, perhaps, satisfied maybe, but never _happy_. That was part of the reason Megatron put so much trust in him; he didn't allow his emotions to rule him because he didn't have any. Soundwave's forte was cool logic and rising up against Megatron was simply illogical. For those reasons Megatron had decided he wanted to get into contact with the communications officer. The question now was how, and the answer was hovering somewhere just out of eyeshot. If Megatron wanted Soundwave's help he needed to convince Barricade to help him first.

He leaned against the nose of his vehicle and tilted his head to one side as he considered the black-and-white 'con he could almost see across the parking lot. They had stopped to refuel the car and Megatron had caught sight of the now-familiar powerful-looking vehicle slip into the lot. Barricade's car form simply wasn't designed for blending in, which was both good and bad; it made it easy for Megatron to track him as he took up position in an empty spot across the way. No doubt the scout was scanning every vehicle in an attempt to locate the spark signal he was tracking. It probably wouldn't even occur to him to scan the fleshlings.

A soft metallic skittering noise drew Megatron's attention. He snapped his chin around in time to see… something… duck behind one of the car's wheels. The Clarice was still trying to maneuver the fuel pump, an awkward contraption with an unwieldy hose. She was back by the rear of the vehicle while the noise was coming from the opposite side. He shifted his weight and turned his back slightly to the noise, watching out of the corner of his eye. After a moment an optic-eyestalk peered around the tire, studying him intently. Megatron held himself still, waiting and listening as the little mech hummed and muttered to himself. Finally Frenzy shuffled out form his place and scuttled forward, taking one digit-blade and preparing to poke at the weird-sensing squishie-

Megatron spun around and seized the little thing, yanking him off the ground and slamming him across the hood hard enough to dent both machines. Frenzy gave a shrill whoop and started to transformed his arm, trying to bring out his gun or maybe his throwing stars but the human seized his hand and gave it a sharp twist. He was strong, too strong, and there was an ominous _creak_ of metal skeletal supports threatening to snap. Frenzy was jabbering now, a relentless stream of nonsense interspersed by deafeningly high-pitched squeals for Barricade. He didn't really need his partner's help, though, as he brought his feet up and pushed off against Megatron's chest. His head snapped around and impacted with the human's chin hard enough to instantly split the skin. Megatron grunted and lessened his grip enough that the little 'con slid away from him and started to dash away.

The human snarled at him and spun around, reaching through the open window of the car and seizing the ice scrapper. He threw it at Frenzy and it tangled in those stick-like legs. The hacker went down with a very loud Cybertronian curse, then rolled over and readied his gun, yelling rapid-fire insults and threats. Megatron stood his ground, wiping the blood of his chin with one hand and growling.

"Stupid little insect," he spat. "Going to kill me? Just try it."

Frenzy froze, staring at Megatron and staying perfectly still except for the odd spasms. After a moment he scrambled to his feet and peered at the human, his head jerking around like a bird's.

"Mega-mega-megatron?"

"Very good," he drawled. "Certainly took you long enough."

Frenzy whooped once more and darted away, heading towards Barricade. Megatron watched him go. He turned and saw the Clarice watching his with wide eyes.

"What was that?" she asked. Megatron studied her, then smiled darkly.

"Good news for me," he answered calmly. "Very bad news for you. Your usefulness just ended."

--

Barricade had listened to Frenzy's frenetic gibberish over their internal line but had been unable to do anything; also unwilling, since the first words the hacker had said were 'squishie being mean'. Then the hacker began to shriek something about Megatron and came flying around the corner at a rate of full giddyup. He tried to stop too late and slid right under Barricade's frame. The scout tensed, not sure he trusted the little spaz to not damage anything, but the hacker scrambled out without pause.

"Megatronmegatronmegatronmegatron! Me-Ga-Tron!"

"Megatron is dead," Barricade stated flatly. The hacker hissed and danced on the spot, beating against Barricade's door.

"Megatronissquishie," Frenzy spat. "Megatronissquishie Me-gatronis-squishie!"

"If he were alive he'd toss you to the Predacons for saying that," the scout shot back. Frenzy screeched and head-butted the car's window. Barricade kicked his engine over and shot into reverse, leaving Frenzy scrambling to keep up as he peeled away. He spun around and came to a halt facing the only other vehicle at the gas pumps, a large green SUV. Leaning against the front bumper was the squishie in question, and Barricade had to admit that if any one human could try to pass itself off as Megatron this one came closest. It was staring at him in a manner that certainly reminded him of his late leader, a clear challenge in its face and stance.

Another human was behind him. This one was watching with fear written bold across it. It took a few steps back, then turned and bolted. Frenzy arrived just then, stopping too late again; unlike last time he careened off Barricade's side panel and bounced to the pavement. Then he scrambled to his feet and did a curious little half-hop-half-run until he stood between his partner and the human Megatron.

"Squishierunsquishierun run run! I goget?" He looked at the human and Barricade didn't know if he were relieved at the lack of responsibility or insulted at the dismissal. The odd human shrugged.

"Sure, go get her." And Frenzy took off, bounding forward on all fours. Barricade ignored him and instead scanned the human in front of him, who turned out to be the source of the spark signature.

"Frenzy says you're Megatron," he said after a few moments. The human pushed himself off the car and walked towards the scout, stopping just beyond arm's reach.

"And do you believe him?" he asked. His voice was very familiar; it even had the right overtone of icy disdain.

"I'm going to need more than an odd spark signal," Barricade answered carefully. The human took two more steps forward and leaned forward, hands on Barricade's hood, and the scout felt inexplicably anxious.

"I am Commander of the Decepticon Forces. I have forged an army and led it to many victories against the Autobots. I would have been the owner of the Allspark except those cowardly Senate members ejected it into outer space. I died a month ago at the hands of a _human_. And you are a low-level scout, still alive because of an oversight. Any other questions?"

Barricade carefully rolled backwards, out from under the human's weight, and swung his driver's side door open.

"No, sir."

-_Frenzy!_- he barked over the internal line. He was rewarded with instant silence; never a good thing where the hacker was concerned. -_Stop playing around and get back here.-_

-_Squishiegone-_ came the bemused reply.

-_Gone?-_

_-Squishiegofall and getgone. Squishiegone.-_

"Where is Frenzy?" Megatron asked as he settled himself into the seat. Barricade tried not to groan.

"I have no idea," he muttered in exasperation. "He makes no sense anymore."

He followed Frenzy's signal and ended up on a dirt road surrounded on three sides by trees. The fourth side dropped into a steep cliff, where Frenzy was standing on the edge peering down. Megatron got out but Barricade kept his distance, wary of instability caused by his weight. His leader walked over to the edge and stared down, unmoving, until Frenzy began his twitchy dance once more. After another moment he turned and both headed back to the scout.

"She won't be causing any problems," Megatron said succinctly. Barricade let his engine idle as Frenzy squirmed around in the passenger's seat and the 'con-turned-fleshling stared at the Decepticon sigil on the steering wheel. Finally he shook himself and spoke. "Have you established contact with anyone off-planet?"

"No," Barricade answered, trying not to sound irate. "Starscream decided he wanted me on the planet immediately and refused to compromise. I had to negotiate the atmosphere during a meteor shower. My long-distance communicator works, barely." He didn't bother to mention the obvious crash and resulting damage of Starscream's decision. Megatron muttered under his breath; nothing kind from the sounds of it and all directed towards the absent seeker. Then the human tilted his head and looked at the 'con sitting next to him.

Frenzy recognized his cue and poked at Barricade's dashboard. "Screen," he ordered. The scout balked, remembering the hacker's attempt to download the viruses to him. Frenzy hissed and started jabbing him nonstop. "Screenscreenscreenscreen screen screen _screen_ gimmegimme screen-"

Megatron tired of this game quicker than Barricade. He caught Frenzy's arm with one hand and used the other to deliver a swift punch just under the steering wheel. The scout grunted and grudgingly extended the data screen Frenzy had so kindly requested. As usual the hacker flew through the mountains of data faster than Barricade would have thought possible, hissing and muttering. Aside from a few rude comments, though, the little mutant minded his manners.

"Celltower," Frenzy announced suddenly, and Barricade uploaded the info from the screen. "Celltowerbeemintospacehacktowersendmessage go go go!"

Megatron said nothing so Barricade floored it, tires skewing wildly across the gravel of the road before he straightened himself out. Then he followed Frenzy's directions towards the nearest cell tower.

With any luck he wouldn't be stuck on this planet, with Megatron, for any longer than absolutely necessary.

--

Swindle had propped his feet up on the desk and leaned the chair as far back as he dared. He was bored, utterly bored, and he blamed it all on a certain seeker.

Normally he'd be wheeling and dealing, adding to his nice cushy nest egg of energon and credits, or conning some dupe out of anything valuable. Sometimes he'd contact his old team mate Vortex, who was with Shockwave now, and offer up a trade of information Soundwave wasn't quite willing to give up for one of Shockwave's new toys. The scientist and communications officer had a thinly veiled, intense dislike for one another despite the fact that they were now considered the two most powerful surviving Decepticons. They wanted nothing to do with each other, even though they needed each other for steady information exchange and reliable weapons. If not for Swindle and Vortex making deals behind the two officers' backs both teams would have run into serious issues long ago.

But no, he couldn't do any of that. Now that they were close to orbiting the little blue planet called Earth Soundwave had put a lockdown on all outgoing transmissions. None of his shipmates had anything Swindle wanted, so he was stuck babysitting jets in the brig. All of this because Starscream couldn't come up with a convincing lie about Megatron's death.

The jet in question was laying in a crumpled heap behind the energy bars. According to Swindle's chronometer he should be coming online soon- when he had first been put on this ship, trapped in a small space with a bunch of annoying midgets and a doomsday 'con, he had annoyed Soundwave often enough that he could predict exactly when to expect Starscream's revival.

Sure enough, the jet jerked upright as though he'd been touched with a live wire. He tried to transform one of his cannons but was rewarded with an error reading- another thing Swindle knew from experience.

"Why are my weapons offline?" the jet demanded.

"Cause last time you came up shooting," Swindle answered in a bored tone. "Put Ravage in the repair bay."

"Why am I in the brig?"

"You annoyed Soundwave."

"I annoyed- where are we?"

"On the far side of the fourth planet in Earth's solar system." Now Swindle grinned at the seeker. "We're almost to Earth."

"Earth?!" Starscream's voice hit a pitch about half an octave higher than the sound of Ravage's claws scratching a piece of sheet metal. "What are we doing back here?"

"Seeing if you were telling the truth," Swindle answered cheerfully. Starscream gaped at him for a moment of blessed silence. Then he found his voice.

"No! I said we weren't coming here and as Air Commander and your leader-!"

"Oh, shut up," a new voice said from the doorway. Swindle started to turn to see who it was. Before he could, a large hand clamped on his shoulder and tilted him a little farther back, just far enough that he went feet-over-head in a graceless tumble to the floor. As a final insult the chair landed hard across his back, causing him to give a very undignified-sounding squawk. He scowled at the feet in front of his face.

"I hate triplechangers," he muttered. Astrotrain merely laughed nastily.

"Do not tell me to shut up," Starscream snapped. He slammed a fist into the energy bars, causing them to shoot off sparks and probably giving the jet a nasty shock. Swindle set his chair upright and sat, pointedly leaning back again, although this time he kept on foot hooked on the underside of the desk so there would be no repeats.

"I'll tell you whatever I want," the triplechanger countered lazily. "Because you're a coward, I have to go down to that pathetic planet and find Barricade by myself."

Swindle wasn't quite brave enough to mock the space jet for that, especially since the other 'con was still standing directly behind him. Instead he snorted and shifted his attention back to the card game he'd been playing with himself. Starscream glared at them both.

"Fine," he snapped. "But don't come whining to me when Prime rearranges your internals and ties your tailfins into a knot."

Astrotrain scoffed and kicked at Swindle's chair. This time the smaller mech had himself balanced too well to fall but he hit the desk hard enough to send his cards sliding all out of place. For a moment he stared at the messy piles. Then he shoved his chair back and stood.

"Oh good, you're here. I'm off-shift now, so I guess you're taking over!"

"What?" Astrotrain blurted, startled. He had come down to harass Starscream, not get volunteered for a pointless CPU-rusting duty.

"Technically it's Dead End's shift now but I don't want to talk to him, and since you're here you'll do. Bye-bye!" The last part was accompanied by a cheerful wave as Swindle all but flew out the door, leaving the two jets staring after him and looking like they'd just been whacked upside the heads. Swindle didn't slow down, knowing that as soon as he figured out what just happened Astrotrain would be more than a little irked. Instead he made a mad dash for the bridge, trusting Soundwave wouldn't tolerate any infighting this close to their enemies' new stronghold. At least, not where he could see it.

Soundwave wasn't on the bridge but Dead End was, slouched by the viewport and studying the dull red planet they were passing. In the distance a small blue dot glowed.

"Prime is on that planet," Dead End said morosely. "And the twins…" Swindle almost turned right around and walked out, but the threat of an irate triplechanger kept him there.

"We're all doomed, right?" he asked instead. The former Stunticon peered at him.

"We've always been doomed," he answered, and Swindle groaned. This was exactly what he needed, and with such perfect timing too. Then he shifted his attention back to that little planet ahead of them and frowned.

As much of a pessimist as Dead End tended to be, sometimes Swindle couldn't help but wonder if he might actually be correct.

--

Jazz chewed on the pen's lid, trying to avoid a repeat of two hours ago when a different pen had exploded in his mouth, and stared at the computer screen. He'd spent the past two and a half hours researching every little thing he could think of. By now he knew such random things as how long a Senate member kept his office, in which city the world's largest ball of twine resided, and that there were more hotel rooms in the city of Las Vegas than there were people. The last part didn't really surprise him when he stopped to think about it, but it was certainly interesting.

For what had to be the fortieth time he got up, stretching and listening to the series of popping sounds issuing from his spine, and wandered over to the window. No yellow Camaro. No red-and-blue semi or giant black pickup, for that matter. He was lucky the library didn't close at night, he thought wryly, although the librarian was starting to look at him in a manner that indicated uneasy impatience. Jazz would need to leave soon, but by now it was well and truly dark and he simply didn't feel comfortable enough as human to risk the crowds.

He'd traded out a five for quarters an hour ago and tried calling Sam again, but the boy's phone had gone straight to voice mail. This could be good- there was a whole lot of nothing between Las Vegas and Los Angeles so it might be that he had no reception. This could also be bad, as Sam might have turned his phone off to prevent any more weirdoes claiming to be dead Autobots from calling him.

A flash of yellow caught his eye and he shifted, almost cheering when the Camaro turned into the lot and pulled into a parking space. He waited until Sam got out, not wanting this to have confrontation in front of the teen, before heading towards the door.

Bumblebee sat in the empty lot, just off to one side from a lamp post, acting like a normal car. He didn't react as Jazz walked over to him, even when the human stopped in front of him.

"Gonna pretend I'm not here?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

There was a long silence, then Bumblebee spoke in his newly healed, still scratchy voice.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Jazz, an' if you need me to I can prove it." He considered the car in front of him. "I should be givin' off a weird spark signal, a really weird one since humans don't have sparks. An' if you want I could tell you stories 'bout the trip. Like th' time Ironhide found his cannons loaded with paint pellets instead of ammo."

This time the silence was filled with disbelief. Not for the first time Jazz wondered how this had happened to him. Someone out there must really like him, he decided, and left it at that. An odd noise came from his right and he glanced over to see Sam, looking appropriately startled.

"Jazz?"

"Yup," the saboteur chirped.

"How did this…?" Bee began, and Jazz shrugged.

"No idea, kiddo. But it did, an' we gotta deal with it." He sighed at the last part, acknowledging a truth he'd so far done a fine job of ignoring- he had simply no idea how to change himself back. He didn't want to explain his fears to these two, however; there was no point behind alarming them, and some protective instinct in him wanted to keep them sheltered. They were both still younglings, after all. "First things first, we gotta get back to base. If you tracked me this easy then anyone else can too, an' Barricade's still runnin' around."

"I can handle Barricade," Bumblebee said, sounding stiff and insulted. Jazz grinned.

"I don't doubt it, but it's better not to take the chance."

So ten minutes later they were on the highway, heading to California. Jazz settled himself lower into the seat, content to let Sam subtly stare at him while pretending to drive and answer any occasional questions about what it was like being human. He was almost asleep when a pair of sports cars shot by, the deep roar of their engines causing him to sit bolt upright. Sam had done the same and was twisting around to look back.

"Was that…?" he began. Jazz glanced back but the cars were gone by now.

"It was," Bee answered grimly. He slammed on the brakes and swung around, skidding over the yellow line. After a second to reorient himself he was following the two sports cars at a clip considerably faster than before.

"Lemme guess," Jazz drawled. "Th' twins?"

"Prowl said he could handle them," Sam muttered. Jazz snorted and shook his head.

"He likes t' think so, and to give him credit most times he can. But I wouldn't've tried it here an' now. Too many new opportunities."

"Wonderful," Sam muttered to himself. "So now we're babysitters?"

"Where th' twins are concerned, everyone is."

And they were silent, with anger or poorly-hidden amusement, as they once again headed towards the neon-lit city of Las Vegas.


	7. Primus

Okay, challenge time- check out all the geographical places and facts about the hotels and see how much I got right. I wrote the Vegas part of this chapter based solely on memory. And the extra stuff, like the SUV limo and the living statues, all actually exists in Vegas. I didn't look at a single map or picture, didn't research a single thing on the Internet, nothing. Everything below is what I remember from three-ish years ago, when I acted as navigator and general map-holder during our second trip to Vegas. The one I'm least sure about is UNLV being on Tropicana. And yes, the drivers in that city are homicidal. My aunts fit right in.

And some of you more observant types might remember Sam's assessment of Vegas being in my author's notes in a previous chapter. That it was, and it was requested I put it in the story, so ta-da. Despite this comment I still find Las Vegas to be one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been to, and strongly recommend everyone go there at least once in their lives, if for no reason more than to play tourist. Maybe I just have a thing for neon lights and giant lions. We'll never know.

Disclaimer: me no own. Go figure.

--

He was human.

Perhaps human was stretching it a bit. He possessed an organic body, if only for a short while, and that organic body was certainly human. But he still retained his own powers, his personality, the indefinable quality of _something_ that always put him a rung above mortal creatures… No, he wasn't actually human, but he wore a human's skin for the time being.

Creation of organics was a rare thing for him, so he had more or less hitched a ride- as the saying ever-so-charmingly went- with a pre-existing human. She was going to have a very lucky night tonight, he thought wryly, even more so if she didn't remember any of it. If she did he would really have no choice but to remove her, in the least friendly meaning of the word. It would be no great loss to him; but as machines had him, she had a being similar to himself, and war was the very last thing he needed. So he minded his manners as he took the human for a stroll, intent on heading into the casinos where the various machines would be singing his name within moments.

Before he got there he stopped and turned, trying to sense something- and there it was. Two Cybertronians blew past, a pair of low-slung sports cars going simply far too fast for the road they were on. He folded his arms over his chest- her chest, really, but who cared?- and sighed.

"Please tell me that wasn't actually what I think they were," he muttered. There was no point in delaying, though; he knew Cybertronian signals inside and out, as they were created by the cube that had been so recently returned to him. "Why is it those two cannot listen?" he asked himself ironically.

_Because they're an awful lot like you_, was the truthful answer he didn't want to hear. He sighed again, ran his- her- long nails through his hair, and set off down the street at a sedate walk. After two blocks he glanced back again as a yellow Camaro roared past. Well, at least something was going according to plan. _This is what happens when you disconnect and wander off to insignificant little planets- you miss things._

He shrugged off the thought and followed the four spark signals he could easily feel as they headed towards Las Vegas Boulevard.

"Stick with the game plan, boys, this is one referee you can't afford to upset," he said to no one who could hear him.

--

"A mystery text message?"

Sam glanced at Jazz, trying not to let the glance turn into a stare. The thought of an Autobot turning into a human was still mind-boggling. True, Jazz and his friends had taken everything Sam thought he knew and turned it on its ear, but he _knew_ the dead didn't come back to life, especially as a member of a race so different from their own.

Instead he met that startlingly blue gaze for a moment, then nodded and reached around for his backpack in the back seat. He pulled out the paper and handed it to Jazz.

The saboteur gave a humming noise, then shifted around in his seat. "Can I borrow your phone?" Sam handed it over without comment. "Bet you didn't know- well, actually, maybe you did- but there're letters on each number."

"So?" The teen tried to peer around at the paper, which Jazz was scribbling on.

"Nothin'. This Barricade bein' a harbinger. Figured that out yet?"

"No," Sam muttered. He felt stupid now; clearly Jazz was having no trouble solving this riddle. The new human seemed to pick up on this and gave the teen a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"No need t' worry, Sam, I've got a couple dozen millennia over you. You shoulda seen me fumbling' around all today, tryin' to figure out how to be human." He grinned and Sam couldn't help but smile back. The saboteur went back to his scribbling and Sam was inordinately amused to see Jazz chewing on the eraser of his pencil- a habit so human it was hard to remember what he really was. "Slaggin' Pit. Balance."

"What?" He glanced around, trying to figure out where they were. They were on Tropicana Avenue, and if it weren't for the fact that they were trying to find a pair of cars he would have suggested getting out and walking. The traffic hadn't budged an inch in ten minutes.

"Y'know, I walked down Tropicana this afternoon t' get to UNLV. It had no traffic." Jazz studied the Excalibur, one of the two Strip hotels they could currently see. "So much for the city that never sleeps. More like the Nocturnal City."

"Or the Bipolar City." Sam was watching the roller coaster on the New York New York, trying to figure out why anyone would get on a ride on top of a building. "I hear it's like ghost town during the day. It's what I heard," he said defensively to the amused look he was getting from Jazz.

"Uh huh. An' livin' three hours from th' city, you've never snuck out here?"

"Not with my control-freak parents," Sam countered, then gasped. "Oh hell, I never called my mom."

There was a long silence at that. Then Jazz offered him an apologetic smile.

"Well, Sam, it was nice knowin' ya. No worries; you'll always be honored by th' Autobots."

"You're not helping!" Sam snapped. He snatched his phone out of Jazz's hand and dialed, pausing before he entered the last number. He didn't want his parents to worry but if they found out where he was he would be lucky to get out of the house again before he was thirty. Jazz grunted and took the phone back, hitting in the number.

"I think it's past time you tell 'em exactly what's goin' on. Certainly make it a lot easier t' explain why you need t' take random road trips to Las Vegas."

"Yeah. Sure. _You_ tell my parents about the giant alien robots." He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. This was one conversation he wasn't missing. After a moment it became clear he was going to miss it- Jazz shook his head and hung up.

"No answer."

"Oh god, they probably called out the National Guard on me," Sam moaned. Jazz took the phone and tapped Bumblebee's dashboard with it.

"Y'said you called Optimus 'fore comin' out here, right?"

"Yes," the 'bot replied, his word both confirmation and question. Jazz nodded.

"Right. Problem solved. Optimus prob'ly called 'em and gave 'em a reason why you aren't home yet."

Sam opened his mouth to protest and left it hanging there. "I didn't think of that," he said finally.

"Obviously," Jazz answered in amusement. "No need t' worry, he won't let 'em get too out of control."

There were a few moments of silence as Sam leaned forward, straining to get his first view of the lit-up Strip. Jazz merely gazed passively out his window, having already studied the infamous area from the third floor of UNLV.

"Slagging Pit what?" the teen asked suddenly, earning him a blank look and a vague 'huh?' "You said slagging Pit to something, then never told me what for."

"Ah," Jazz shrugged and sighed. "Ever since I woke up this afternoon, I've been gettin' the feelin' I'm missin' something. Kinda like I lost a day, an' I don't remember anythin' that happened during it. Anyways, I've kinda been getting' a few bits of it back, an' one bit is a mystery voice talkin' to me and sayin' something about maintaining balance."

" 'Your greatest enemy is now your kin'- you think a Decepticon was brought back?" Sam glanced at Jazz, who didn't answer. "Please say it isn't Megatron."

"If it is he's human now," the saboteur pointed out gently. Sam released the breath he'd been holding at the reminder. Megatron revived was still a scary thought, but his no longer being a thirty-foot-tall killing machine made it easier to handle.

"Th' question now is why," Jazz added thoughtfully. Sam frowned at that.

"Why what?"

"Why bring me back? Thousands of good 'bots have died; what makes me special?" He was tapping the pencil against Bumblebee's door. The 'bot gave an annoyed beep and Jazz stopped with a muttered apology. "No one does anythin' for free in this universe, so th' question is, what does my mystery benefactor want?"

A light turned green and Bee made a wild dash for it, swinging into oncoming traffic long enough to duck around a fire-engine red SUV limo. He jerked back into his lane at the last possible moment, appearing to not notice his two guests clutching at arm rests and door handles, and flew through the intersection. He barely made the turn that deposited them into the Strip proper, but as soon as he did Sam forgot the wrathful lecture he'd been brewing.

"Wow," he said instead. Jazz made a noise of agreement. There was something simply beautiful about the sprawling hotels and the endless sea of neon in every color. Sam glanced around, then turned to Jazz.

"Do you know where the dancing fountain is?"

"Dancin' fountain?" Jazz echoed bemusedly.

"It's in front of one of these hotels," Sam answered. "It's got a fancy name…"

"The Bellagio," Bumblebee put in, no doubt putting his Internet connection to good use. "It should be coming up on the left in a moment, opposite the Paris."

"What is _that_?" Jazz demanded suddenly, and Sam twisted around. Behind them a steady beam of light shone upward, easily three times the size of the biggest searchlight he'd ever seen. It was coming from the tip of the pyramid, which they could barely see.

"That's the Egyptian one. Luxor, I think." The teen turned back and stared out his window. After a moment he shifted his attention back to Jazz. "We're acting like a couple of geeks, aren't we?"

"I'm actin' like an Autobot seein' one of this planet's most unique cities for th' first time," The answer was in a haughty tone he almost managed to pull off. "You're th' only one actin' geeky." Then he grinned, showing no insult intended.

"Yeah, because it's so natural for a giant robot to be fascinated by shiny lights," Sam shot back. Jazz gave an amused snort and returned to gawking. After a moment he tapped a finger against his window. "Found: two Lamborghinis."

"Why do we want…? Oh." Sam watched as the twins settled themselves into the MGM Grand's valet parking. The Grand was on the right side of the road and Bee was in the left lane, with no chance of turning around anytime in the near future. "Now what?"

"If we can get to th' Paris we can take th' monorail back here," Jazz said, sounding as though he were talking to himself.

"Monorail?" Sam echoed. The saboteur grinned.

"Sure. There's a monorail connectin' the hotels on th' MGM side of th' road. Good for business t' pretend to share nice."

"How do you even know that?" the teen asked. The mech-turned-human snorted.

"Sam, I called you at seven thirty. You got here at ten forty-five. I had t' do something with my free time."

They maneuvered their way across the road, managing to get into the right lane in time to head into the Paris' parking lot. Sam saw the Bellagio but there was too much traffic for him to see the fountain. After another few suicidal stunts they were parked near an entrance, with Sam having to slide out the passenger door so Bee wouldn't be driving off after his driver got out. Jazz rested a forearm on the roof and leaned down to talk to his teammate as Sam stared up at the Eiffel Tower. A few moments later the former 'bot straightened up and handed the teen his backpack.

"He's gonna get himself turned around and trackin' Dumb an' Dumber. Said he'll text if anythin' changes."

Sam nodded to this and started to slide his bag on, stopping at the last second and pulling out the paper Jazz had been so busy writing on. The number 077-4687 was written on it, each digit spread out far enough for the letters on the phone keys to fit under them, save zero which had no letters. He had tried to fit several words together but only one had been circled; a word Sam found vaguely familiar from somewhere.

'_P R I M U S'_

--

They made their confused way through the Paris hotel, having to stop and ask directions several times at various gift stores and restaurants. One had a sign in front with the restaurant's French mouthful of a name, and something in it smelled wonderful. Sam had to practically pull Jazz away from the line in front. It was a much harder task when they walked past a conventional food court, complete with fast food, and both realized how hungry they were. One of them- it was never clear which- found a reserve of self-control and pushed both past.

The biggest delay came when they were heading down the hallways past the elevators leading to the hotel rooms. Along the way were several bronze statues of people doing various things- a woman in a Victorian-style dress sitting on a bench, a man walking a dog, an artist in front of his palette. The last Sam paused at and Jazz was almost around the corner when the teen gave an alarmed yelp.

"Dear God that's an actual person," he babbled as Jazz came running back. The saboteur caught the teen's elbow and pulled him back to his feet- he'd been laying on his back- and peered at the statue.

The 'statue' opened its eyes and looked back.

Jazz dropped Sam and jumped back, tripping over the boy and landing gracelessly on his butt. He got his hands and feet under him and scrambled back a little further, staring at the artist. The man- and now Jazz could see he was breathing, was even slightly shaking from holding his pose- closed his eyes and went back to being just a statue.

"That's freaky," Jazz muttered. He picked himself up and glanced at Sam, thinking wryly that the living statue had garnered more of a reaction than a dead-robot-turned-human had. After a moment's consideration the saboteur leaned forward, preparing to touch the artist's shoulder and see what kind of clothes he was wearing, but Sam snagged his wrist and tugged him away.

"We do not poke the statues," the boy hissed, glancing towards the artist. "Especially if they can poke back."

All told it took about twenty minutes to find the monorail station, which was actually in the hotel next to the Paris. The walkway connected to the station from both hotels, however, and when Bee sent them a text saying he'd managed to get into the MGM parking lot they were standing on the platform and waiting.

"What if they take off?" Sam asked as he tucked his phone into his pocket. Jazz shrugged unconcernedly.

"If they stay on this side we can find 'em easy enough. If they cross th' road, it's still faster on foot."

Before Sam could ask how that worked the train thundered into the station with a rush of displaced air and an obnoxious squealing of brakes. They waited patiently for the car to empty of its tourists before stepping on themselves.

The MGM Grand was more opulent than Jazz would have imagined. The hallways were grey-white marble and gold leaf, the ceiling vaulted high and ornately carved pillars every ten or so feet. Compared to the France circa 1950's style the Paris went for this seemed almost overkill. Jazz guided them through the long hallways, trying not to stop and stare too often. They went past an open archway through which came the scent of burning tobacco and many varieties of alcohol, coupled with the overwhelming noises of five hundred slot machines competing to see which was loudest. The saboteur was momentarily sidetracked when he saw a sign pointing towards the lion cages; Sam had to pull him away.

Then they were out the front door and into the surprisingly chilly Vegas night. After a moment Sam pointed towards the row of valet-parked cars. On the close end was a familiar red Lamborghini. Jazz motioned for the teen to hang back and walked over to the sports car. He made as if to walk past but turned instead and slapped one open hand on the car's hood. Sideswipe started noticeably and blurted a staccato Cybertronian curse.

"Nice, Sides," Jazz drawled. "Way to keep your cover."

"Jazz?" The warrior sounded understandably confused. Jazz slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

"Yup. Alive an' in th' flesh. Literally." He glanced around, peering down the line in search for another Lamborghini. "Uh… where's Sunny?"

Sideswipe cackled; never a good sign, his being amused. Jazz felt an alarm go off in the back of his mind.

"Sunstreaker," and Sideswipe took great care in using his twin's full name, "got taken out for a test drive. By a squishie."

"Watch th' squishie talk," Jazz warned amiably.

"Right. Anyways, the squ- human- took him for a drive. He stopped at someplace called Burger King. Sunny's been howling about how the idiot spilled something over his fancy seats." Sideswipe laughed again. "And the best part is, he can't transform. He does, Prowl can track us, so he's stuck."

"Hate t' burst your bubble, kiddo, but you're comin' back t' base with Sam an' me," the saboteur informed him. Sideswipe paused.

"Uh, Jazz… you're a sq- human. How are you gonna…?" He tried to find a delicate way to phrase the question and failed. Jazz shrugged again and grinned.

"I dunno. I was thinkin' about tellin' a certain medic about a time when his extra-strength fixing agent moved itself an' he ended up glued to his chair for two joors. 'Member that? Well, I kinda know how it ended up on th' chair."

"That was a long time ago," Sideswipe sounded guarded. The human snorted.

"It was half a vorn ago," Jazz corrected. The twin didn't answer.

"A vorn?" Sam, now standing at Jazz's elbow, frowned. "What's that?"

"'Bout eighty-odd years," the saboteur answered. "An' a joor is roughly two weeks."

"Ratchet was glued to a chair for a month?" Sam turned to stare at him, eyes going wide and hand clamping over his mouth to keep from laughing. "Wait- I thought you guys all separated and went off searching for the Allspark."

"Yeah, but we did run into each other occasionally," Jazz answered the un-question. "Last ones we met were th' twins."

"Wow." Sam considered the car in front of him. "Glued Ratchet to his chair? Really?"

"Oh, we do all sorts of things like that," Sideswipe verbally waved off the admiration.

"Thus provin' Darwin wrong an' showin' that the luckiest survive, not th' strongest," Jazz added on a laugh. Then he turned at the sound of a familiar engine roar as Bumblebee slid into the space next to Sideswipe. A moment later a gold Lamborghini jerked to a savage halt behind the two Autobots. The driver's door swung open and a young man in the valet's uniform scrambled out.

"Dude, I am so dead," he said to his coworker. "I spilled soda all over the passenger seat. And it's leather, too!" Whatever else he might have said was overridden by Jazz's laughter.

"This is. Not. Funny." Sunstreaker growled. There was a long pause, as Sideswipe no doubt explained everything to his twin, then the gold car shuddered. "I don't like this city. I want out."

"Fine," Jazz answered mildly. "We're goin' back to th' base. You're welcome to come with us if you stay there this time."

"Nice car," a new voice interrupted. Jazz and Sam both turned to find a woman standing in front of Bee. She was very attractive by human standards, and Jazz couldn't help but remember the lecture on the human reproductive system Ratchet had felt was somehow necessary.

Sam was probably thinking along the same lines but for entirely different reasons. His face was turning an interesting shade of red as he stammered something that, with a liberal dose of imagination, might have been interpreted as a thanks.

"Oh, not the Lamborghinis," she added as Jazz walked past her to stand beside Sunstreaker. He didn't want the valets returning in some misguided attempt to clean the 'bot. "You see a lot of fancy sports cars out here, so they're boring."

"What?!" a scandalized Sunstreaker barked. Jazz winced and kicked swiftly at the twin's bumper. Fortunately the woman thought it was Jazz who had said that.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "But this…" And at the 'this' she tapped Bumblebee's hood with a careful fingernail. "I like this. It's a Camaro, right? '08?"

"Uh… duh… uh, I mean… yeah," Sam answered. "Uh, actually, no. He's- it's- '09. Brand new."

"Keep it up, Sam," Sideswipe muttered softly. "Another few hours and you might manage to say a full sentence."

"What?" Sunstreaker was still fairly upset by the comparison. "How could you-"

"Sunstreaker, hush," Jazz growled.

"- say that about that filthy little-"

"Shut _up,_ Sunny!"

"- don't call me- ugh! Primus fraggit _get that off me_!"

Jazz eyed the palm print he'd left on the Lamborghini's spotless side panel. He probably hadn't needed to spit into his hand first, but at least the twin was no longer focusing his ire on an unsuspecting human.

The woman was watching Jazz questioningly, one brow arched high. After a moment she smiled at him.

"I think it's time you boys got home," she said, placing one hand on both Sideswipe and Bumblebee. Something tickled at Jazz's senses, but before he could figure it out the woman was gone.

"What was that?" Sam asked distractedly.

"Good advice," Jazz answered. He wiped at the spit-print with the hem of his shirt before stepping away from the potentially homicidal twin.

Half an hour later they were on Highway 15, once again heading towards California. This time they had two Lamborghinis in tow. One was still moaning about his seat, but the other two 'bots had tuned him out.

"So who's Primus?" Sam abruptly asked. Jazz stared blankly at the teen, who pulled a paper out of his backpack. The saboteur saw his own handwriting on the page and gave an 'ah'.

"Primus is kinda like our version of your God," he tried. "Only we don't actively worship him th' way you do."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. But I got th' feelin' he's the reason I'm in this mess." Jazz rested his forehead on the cool glass of the window and sighed. There was something he wasn't saying, something he wouldn't say to save his own life.

Primus had to be responsible for this mess. And Jazz had a very good reason to believe that they had just met him.

--

Megatron leaned against the fence and stared out at the forest, ignoring Frenzy's long spiel of gibberish as the hacker worked his magic on the cell phone tower. He was too busy trying to solve this new puzzle. According to Barricade, only a fragment of the Allspark had survived. Would that small piece return Megatron to his true form, or would he need the whole thing? Did each part of the Cube hold equal amounts of its power or did it need to be intact to be of any use?

Behind him came a shrill screeching noise and he spun around, turning just in time to see Frenzy being bodily kicked off the metal structure. An arc of blue electricity connected between the tower and the small 'con, who landed on top of the nearby police cruiser. Barricade had been resting in recharge mode right up to that moment; as Frenzy began to jerk and twist wildly the scout came online and lurched to the side, sliding the small mech off. The bigger 'con transformed, the process taking almost twice as long due to the constant interruption of convulsions as the electricity pulsed through him. By the time the scout had found his feet Megatron had crossed the distance between them and stood just out of reach.

He was more than vaguely concerned by the scout's slowness- Frenzy's franticness was acceptable because he was so small and still did his job perfectly. If Barricade suffered the same CPU frying as his small partner, however, they were all in serious trouble. But the black-and-white seemed steady, irritated but fine as he scowled at the hacker. Frenzy was flopping around, having been knocked off-line by the surge. He would remain that way while his systems rebooted and repaired any damaged.

"Idiot plugged into an electrical outlet," Barricade muttered as he studied the tower. Megatron scowled as he scanned the control panel Frenzy had been working at. Neither bothered to worry about or watch the hacker; he would be fine. Besides, his digit-blades were out and clawing at the air, making it dangerous to go near him.

"Can you finish it?" Megatron asked. The scout grunted and kneeled, holding one hand near the panel. Various extensions came out of his fingers and plugged in. He was by no means as fast or thorough as Frenzy. He also wouldn't electrify himself, Megatron thought wryly, so it was a fair exchange.

After a moment Barricade disconnected and stood. His optics dimmed as he turned his attention inward, no doubt scanning the signal he now received for anything interesting.

"There's something there," he said abruptly. Megatron shifted and glared up at him.

" 'Something' where?"

"A Cybertronian signal, probably a ship of some sort, orbiting the planet just outside of the sensors on the humans' satellites." He scoffed. "These creatures are pitiful."

Megatron didn't bother reminding the scout that his leader currently was one of those pitful creatures. Instead he asked, "Decepticon?"

Barricade didn't answer. His already-dim optics turned a flat gray and his frame went rigid. Megatron recognized the signs- the scout had tripped an alarm on the ship and had been hit with a backlash of viruses and lines of destructive code. The human could do nothing but watch and hope Barricade's firewalls were up to the challenge as the scout fought off the intruders.

Behind him came a sharp hiss and Frenzy scuttled past. The hacker scrambled up his partner's body with ease and jabbed at the port in Barricade's neck, lending his own impressive arsenal to the digital war. After a moment both came back to life and Frenzy gave a delighted whoop.

"Soundwave!" he hollered to Megatron. "Soundwavesoundwavesoundw- erk."

"Let him go," Megatron ordered, and Barricade uncurled his fist, dropping the slightly squished hacker to the ground. "It's Soundwave?"

The answer was obvious but Barricade was wise enough not to say so. "Certainly sounds like him. He's demanding an update."

"Tell him what happened up until you started tracking me. Then tell him you know of a way to restore me and to get his aft down here, _now_."

There was a long pause. Then Barricade shifted and glanced nervously at Frenzy, who was edging away from Megatron.

"He said no," the scout answered. "His original plan was to send Astrotrain to retrieve me, and he sees no reason to change that now."

Astrotrain. There would be a problem there, Megatron thought. The triplechanger was easily annoyed and not averse to using his size to bully smaller mechs like Barricade into doing things his way. Plus he wasn't a particularly loyal 'con- he wouldn't believe Megatron was who he claimed to be and would probably kill him for his impudence. And there would be little Barricade could do- would be willing to do- to stop him.

"Fine," the human snapped. "Sign off and transform. We need to be somewhere near a human city when Astrotrain gets here."

"I can't sign off," Barricade sounded aggravated now. Clearly he had little experience with Soundwave and his uncompromising methods.

"Then forget it." Megatron snapped his fingers at the cop car. "We need to leave. And Frenzy-"

The hacker had been crouched on his haunches, muttering about his joy at being reunited with his old team and his dislike for Barricade. He jerked around and peered at Megatron, who bit back his groan and continued.

"We're going to work on hiding my spark signal. Astrotrain is not leaving with any of us; Soundwave is coming down here. And we are going to retrieve the piece of the Allspark."

"The Autobots have it," Barricade said slowly, as though Megatron were a sparkling incapable of understanding basic speech. He pulled back from the glare he gained in return.

"Then we go get it from them." Megatron folded his arms over his chest and considered his- currently rather pathetic- troops. "This war is not over yet."


	8. Warrior

So I got TF Animated season one on DVD the other day, and just let me say… I officially love it. I still like Prowl, but now Blitzwing is making his way up the list. C'mon, the guy's got three faces, one of which is completely psycho and all having a German accent. What isn't to love? Plus the storyline allows for actual character depth, which I wasn't expecting, and it's decently funny. And once you get used to it the art style's not all that bad.

Anyways, enjoy the latest chapter. I finally put it up after three days of going over and over the part with Prime. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but oh well. And the part where Astrotrain makes his grand entrance was actually written around the same time as chapter two; it's just been sitting around my hard drive waiting for this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own, so you don't sue.

--

"… Jazz? Jazz!"

"Buh wha?" He sat upright too fast and nailed his head on- something. The pain jarred him and chased away the fuzziness that had clouded his mind. "What happened?"

"You were asleep," said a voice that seemed distantly familiar. Jazz peered at the face outside the open window, trying to place it. The human seemed to realize the problem and smiled at him. "I'm Captain Lennox. Remember me?"

"Kinda," the saboteur muttered. "Where am I?"

"The Autobot base," the captain answered as he stepped away. The car door Jazz had been leaning against swung open and the saboteur managed a controlled fall out. He groaned as his muscles locked up and loudly protested the position he'd forced them into.

"They let me sleep there?" he asked as he looked at his previous resting place. Bumblebee had to be the most patient mech in the history of Cybertron, he thought wryly. None of the others would have tolerated him snoozing on their passenger seat.

"From what I heard they didn't let you so much as they had to. According to Sam you were very unkind to him when he and Bee tried to get you out." Lennox was still smiling at him, clearly amused by the entire thing. Jazz ducked his head- sometime during his restless night the hair tie had surrendered to the inevitable and his hair was hanging freely. He dragged a hand through the tousled mess and pushed it out of his face.

"How'd Sam get t' school?" He glanced again at Bumblebee and grimaced. There was no point in trying to talk to the scout; he was in deep recharge.

"Ironhide took him," Lennox answered.

"Oh yeah, 'cause nothin' can go wrong there," Jazz murmured. The captain snorted.

"Well, he wasn't exactly happy, but the other options were either emergency vehicles or Lamborghinis."

Jazz grinned as he pictured that. From ratty thirty-odd-year-old clunker to snazzy new Camaro to sleek newer-than-new Lamborghini. It was a pity he hadn't taken one of the twins; Sideswipe would know to record the kids' various reactions.

"Here," Lennox said abruptly, and Jazz turned in time to catch a plastic bag tossed towards him. Stuffed into it was a change of clothes, a bottle of water, and an orange. "Compliments of my wife. She really wants to meet you, by the way."

"She does, huh?" Jazz pulled out the water and took a sip.

"Yes. All the experience of talking to a giant alien robot with none of the risk." Lennox took the bottle as Jazz tried to juggle it and the bag while pulling out the clean clothes.

"What, is she afraid someone's gonna step on her?" he asked incredulously.

"Not her," the captain answered grimly. Jazz stared blankly him. "Our daughter. She won't even let Ironhide transform near our house. I don't think she's seen any of them out of car form."

Jazz tried not to think about how that blanket statement shouldn't have excluded himself and instead looked around, searching for a bathroom. The building they were in was large; at a casual guess it had once been a warehouse. He doubted it had been originally intended as anything more than storage but it converted well. Except for the dim lights and the cement floor, it had been expertly adapted to the Autobots' needs. Lennox pointed him towards a bathroom and Jazz wandered in, watching as his reflection flickered in time with the dying light bulb.

Twenty minutes later he was in clothes that fit much better, with hair that had been more or less brushed out and given a quick rinse under the faucet, and was feeling better about life in general. The orange had taken a little creativity to figure out, but he had managed, and so he was feeling content with the world. He had no right to complain about anything, really, as he should be dead.

Lennox was waiting near Bumblebee. Next to him was Ratchet.

"Take your time," the medic snapped as Jazz shut the door behind him. The human tilted his head and grinned at the 'bot.

"Thanks, Ratch. I think I will." And he turned around, as if to go back in. The medic gave a harsh buzzing noise and took a single step forward. Jazz stopped moving and stood still, feeling that odd tingling indicative of a scan.

"Interesting," Ratchet mused. "Your spark seems to have adjusted to the human body perfectly. As though it were made for this purpose."

"I think it was," Jazz said slowly. "Something… some_one_… had to make this happen, an' it wasn't me."

Ratchet didn't react immediately. After a few seconds of staring into nothing he shook his head and turned to Jazz. "I think you're best off talking to Prime," he said finally.

So Jazz followed the medic down the hallway, glancing back to confirm Lennox was also coming. He had to steel himself for this encounter- Prime would in no way hold this against him, but for some reason the thought of his leader and longtime friend seeing him like this was upsetting.

Before he could truly prepare himself they were in the main room and there was Prime. The mech looked strong and powerful and just so in-control and composed that Jazz's tension simply vanished. Even though Prime was no more able to control the workings of the universe than Jazz, he gave the impression that he could handle anything. He had a calming effect that Jazz desperately appreciated. When the small group entered the big 'bot turned to face them and the saboteur was thankful for the sunglasses that hid his eyes- and anything they might have shown.

"Jazz," Prime said softly, and that single word was loaded with more emotions than could be named. Jazz grinned and jerked his chin up.

"Hey, Optimus. Didn't think you were gonna be gettin' rid of me that easy, did ya?" And just like that, it was as though nothing had changed. Prime shook his head and turned away in mock exasperation and Jazz smiled, mostly to himself. He couldn't have handled it if the big guy had apologized or said something stupid like that.

"I'm glad you're back, Jazz," Prime said as soon as he'd collected himself. "It's not quite the same without you."

"Oh, sure. Y'got th' twins now; they should make up for me." He laughed at Prime's momentary alarm. "Or not. Got a few questions for you, though."

"As do I," Prime stepped back as Jazz wandered over to the human-sized living room someone had set up in the corner.

Jazz had decided to not bother tip-toeing around and stared up at his friend as he considered how to phrase his question as bluntly as possible. "So I'm gonna guess you didn't know Primus has been talkin' to us?"

"What?" Ratchet blurted from behind Prime. They both stared down at him incredulously. "Jazz, Primus is… I won't say he doesn't exist, but if he does, he's not in any big hurry to let _us_ know about it. He's certainly not-" He stopped himself, clearly seeing the problem.

"Not what?" Jazz countered. "Not bringin' dead 'bots back an' turnin' 'em into humans? If it ain't him, who is it? It's not like there's tons of beings out there who could do this."

An awkward silence followed this. Finally Prime shifted, turning all attention back to him.

"We'll go with that for now," he said, clearly unhappy with the thought of a being so much more powerful than himself, one that he barely believed in , taking a personal interest in his team. "I don't really care how this happened. Do you have any idea how to change back?"

"Not a clue." Jazz shook his head. Ratchet said something in rapid-fire Cybertronian, too fast for Jazz's human ears to comprehend, and Prime responded likewise. After a few rounds of this Lennox appeared at Jazz's elbow.

"Primus being what?" he asked softly, then paused and added, "Or who?"

"Either works," the saboteur answered. "He's kinda like your God, only not nearly as hands-on, an' we don't really worship him. Most times we just acknowledge that he's out there an' he could squish us like bugs an' he's happy to stay far away. Accordin' to legend he made th' Allspark, an' that's been the extent of his interaction with us."

"So he decided to get involved now because…?"

"That's why we're havin' such a hard time acceptin' this," Jazz replied. "Maybe it's got somethin' to do with th' Allspark, though he should be mad at us for destroyin' it."

Lennox considered that. Then he shrugged. "Maybe its destruction isn't as permanent as we think," he said thoughtfully.

" 'To its creator its true powers returned'?" The saboteur grinned at the confused look his words received. "Sorry. Just quotin' a story I heard as a sparkling. It's somethin' to think about, at any rate."

"Very well," Prime abruptly reverted to English, causing the two humans to both start and peer up at him with wide eyes. "The Allspark wasn't completely destroyed. There was a piece of it left."

"Well, that's… good?" Jazz tried. Ratchet snorted.

"Sure it's good," he drawled. "If it works, it can return you to your true body. Unfortunately for you your esteemed leader went and hid it."

"It had to be protected," Prime said in his this-is-me-being-patient voice. "The humans wanted to experiment on it and I couldn't allow that. It is also possible that some Decepticons may land here and try to steal it."

"S'cool," Jazz put in quickly as Ratchet shot an irritated glare towards Prime. Clearly this was not a decision they had agreed on. "Just gotta go get it."

"It will take some time," Prime informed him grimly. The saboteur glanced at him, then back at the medic. Maybe the _what _hadn't annoyed Ratchet nearly as much as the _where_.

"How much time?" Jazz asked slowly.

"About three days," the impatient medic barked out sharply. "And no, he won't tell one of us where to find it. He has to go get it himself."

Prime didn't respond to this; he obviously hadn't expected to need the thing so soon.

"Well, better get moving then," Lennox said. "Before something goes wrong. Something will go wrong," he added to Jazz's frown. "It always does."

"Yeah, okay, thanks for that. Anyways, I'm thinkin' about headin' into town for a few hours. Wanna go?" The saboteur directed the last part to the captain, who sighed and smiled.

"I'll pass. I need to get home."

"Talk to Prowl first," Prime said. Jazz nodded and gave a cheerful little wave as he headed towards the door.

Prowl was in the rec room, which had the biggest TV Jazz had ever seen and about eight game systems. The twins were both on a Cybertronian-sized couch in front of the television, their attention focused entirely on the screen as one of them hacked and shot his way through a small herd of zombies. Briefly Jazz wondered how they had built a controller big enough for them in the time they'd been here.

"Hi Prowler!" he called out cheerfully. The tactician had been watching the twins with disapproval written clear on his faceplates; at Jazz's voice he turned.

"Hello, Jazz," he greeted as if there was nothing unusual about this situation. The saboteur gave him a long-familiar, cheeky grin.

"So I was thinkin' about headin' out t' town for a few hours," Jazz said as if continuing a conversation. "Figured I could borrow one of th' twins." Prowl glanced at him at this, trying to figure out why Jazz would volunteer for such a duty. Then he replayed the request and heard the 'one of' part.

"Which one?" He turned a curious gaze to the mechs in question, neither of which appeared to realize they were being spoken of. Jazz remedied that problem with ease.

"Hey, Sunny," he chirped. The not-so-sunny 'bot immediately spun around with a snarl, but Jazz ignored it and kept talking. "So I was gonna just hit th' store for some clothes, maybe pick up a book or somethin', possibly stop at a car wash. Ya know, kill time."

"Car wash?" Sunstreaker had gone from furious to calculating in two words. He studied the saboteur thoughtfully now.

"Yeah, car wash. Big machine you drive into an' a bunch of littler machines wash your car." He shrugged, trying to explain a car wash without mentioning the self-wash part. Knowing Sunstreaker that would be how he wanted it. "It can wax an' shine an' spot-proof too. If we go really fancy someone'll clean the interior."

The yellow twin was brightening with every word. He slid a quick glance towards his brother- checking to make sure this wasn't some joke- and turned to Prowl. Having been as neatly maneuvered by Jazz's manipulation as Sunstreaker, the tactician had no real choice but to say yes. Instead he proceeded to lay down more rules than anyone could possibly remember, and Jazz began trying to calculate how far he could stretch his money.

"And Jazz?"

"Huh?" He glanced up, trying to not look as though he'd been tuning Prowl out. Fortunately the tactician either didn't notice or didn't care.

"This is a credit card," Prowl said the last two words oddly, leaving Jazz to wonder if he even knew what it was. "Captain Lennox gave it to us. He said it should work if you just use your signature. He also said there's only five hundred dollars in the account."

"I don't plan on spendin' that much," Jazz drawled. Sunstreaker came around the couch and transformed, swinging his door open.

"I want the best," he stated in a tone that indicated he believed he deserved nothing less. "There's a deluxe wash about forty miles from here. Get in and let's go."

Jazz rolled his eyes at that, but didn't protest since he had pretty much brought this on himself. Besides, after the spit-hand from last night Sunny deserved a little pampering. The problem would come in their differing definitions of 'a little'.

And so the saboteur began his first full day as human.

--

"Hey, Jazz!"

Jazz turned, dragging a hand through his hair to keep it from getting in his eyes, and smiled. Standing near Bumblebee, who was parked next to a conspicuously Lamborghini-less spot, Mikaela was waving enthusiastically while Sam was trying to look like he didn't care that his girlfriend was hollering for another guy. A pair of girls on the corner giggled and pointed, pushing the teen to loudly say, "He's just a friend!"

"Where'd Sunny go?" Jazz asked as soon as he got close enough to talk at a civilized volume.

"He said something about not agreeing to being a pack horse and took off," Sam answered helplessly. Jazz shrugged unconcernedly- it was highly doubtful Sunstreaker would be stupid enough to transform without dumping out the bags of stuff Jazz had bought. Then the saboteur turned a brilliant smile on Mikaela, who had been frowning as she studied the former 'bot.

"Nice t' finally meet you," he said, and she smiled in return. Sam looked at one, then the other, then subtly stepped between them.

"So we're here because Mikaela wanted to meet you," he said. "And I guess we're giving you a ride back to the base cause Sunstreaker took off…"

"How were your parents when you got home?" Jazz asked.

"I don't know what Optimus told them," the teen answered, still sounding shocked by his lack of punishment, "but they didn't say anything. I think they thought I was at a field trip for school or something." Then he gave an odd spasm and pulled away from Bumblebee, who he had been leaning against. Jazz saw that the scout had nudged his door open just enough to startle the teen.

A second later Sam's cell phone whistled an odd tune and the boy pulled it out.

"Bee thinks we should leave," he said quietly. "Prowl says he wants us back at base, _now_."

The emphasis on the now worried Jazz. He scowled as he considered the Camaro.

"Did he say why?"

"No," Sam replied. He held his door open and Jazz abruptly realized that there only two doors. He clambered in and somehow managed to slip into the backseat, which was clearly far more ornamental than functional.

After ten minutes on the highway they pulled off, following a side road down to an abandoned building. The parking lot was unpaved and the entire place was encircled by trees, and Jazz couldn't help the immediate sense of isolation.

"Now what?" Mikaela asked.

"Prowl again," Bee answered. There was a long silence from the two in the front seat.

"I think we should head back to base," Mikaela muttered after a moment. Jazz agreed with her.

"We need to do what Prowl says," Sam countered. He glanced in the mirror and met Jazz's gaze. "Isn't he some sort of genius or something?"

"Tactician," the saboteur chuckled. "An' yeah, he's pretty smart."

Silence descended again. After a moment Jazz decided he'd had enough and leaned forward.

"While we're waitin' for Prowl t' tell us what t' do, can we get out? I don't have a lot of room back here."

Sam grunted and opened his door. A moment later Jazz was stretching himself out as Mikaela came around to stand next to Sam. The saboteur leaned against Bumblebee's driver-side door and sighed. Then he paused and tilted his head to one side slightly.

"You guys hear that?" he asked finally.

"It sounds like a train," Mikaela said dismissively. Jazz frowned as he considered that, a deep-rooted feeling of unease growing as the noise continuously increased. He tapped a finger against Bumblebee's window and leaned over to address the scout.

"Your scanners pickin' anything up?" he asked softly. After a moment's silence the Camaro gave a negative chirp. The saboteur shifted uneasily as he straightened up. He had never felt more vulnerable in his life.

"It's time to go," he said finally. The humans ignored him. Jazz turned to Bumblebee, hoping his friend still listened to him. "I got a bad feelin' here, Bee. I think we need t' leave."

"It's just a train, Jazz," Mikaela snapped impatiently. Then she frowned, for the train sounded much closer now- like it was on the other side of the line of trees.

"In my world there's no such thing as _just_ anythin'," Jazz countered grimly. He stepped aside far enough for Bee to open his doors, and the world exploded.

Trees tore up from their roots and blew outwards, towards the small group. A massive black-and-violet _thing_ rushed past, metal shrieking and engines roaring. Jazz knew now what- who- it was and was yelling, ordering the two humans to get in so they could leave. The machine issued a sharp squealing of brakes and shuddered to a halt about fifty feet away from them.

It was indeed a train, although there was nothing 'just' about it. It was only the locomotive but it was huge, almost twice the size of normal Earth trains. Jutting out in front were two lasers that crossed each other and carved deep grooves into the ground in front, which its wheels fit into nicely.

"Upgraded," Jazz muttered as he studied this new toy. "Nice to get off the tracks, huh?"

Then Sam and Mikaela were there, scrambling to get into the Camaro, and the train started to transform.

"Go!" Sam was panicking, trying to turn himself around in the driver's seat and put on his seat belt. Mikaela practically crawled over the teen while Jazz dove into the back seat. Bumblebee's tires spun out uselessly on the gravel ground for a second, allowing the humans just enough time to see the newcomer in all his glory.

"Holy crap he's huge!" Sam yelped. Jazz grunted in agreement- the transformed train had an easy ten feet of height over Optimus Prime.

"Most triplechangers are," he answered, trying to stay calm. Bee's tires caught purchase and they burst forward, hitting pavement and darting away just as their attacker cycled out one of his cannons and took aim. "They have to be," the saboteur added, noting the identical looks of horror his first comment had earned him.

"Triplechanger?" Mikaela echoed. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does."

In answer to her question the triplechanger took one step forward and launched himself into his third form, a bulky-looking space jet. It was achingly slow and about as agile as a three-legged hippo, but it had a better vantage point than the previous train mode. Bumblebee swerved and dodged as the jet peppered the ground with random laser fire.

"He's not even trying to hit us," Sam muttered.

"No, he's not. He's tryin' to keep us away from cover," Jazz said. He nodded towards the side road Bumblebee was aiming towards, a road almost completely sheltered by overhanging trees. The jet sent another row of seemingly unpredictable shots towards them, attempting to herd them away from their goal. Bee swerved around them and gunned his engine, sliding just under the next blast and roaring down the protected road.

For a second Jazz just breathed, settling his nerves. From the moment the triplechanger had burst through the trees, the entire attack had taken approximately thirty seconds. He twisted around in his seat and scanned what few patches of the sky he could see. The bass roar of the jet's engines was as loud as ever and he caught a flash of black through the screen of branches.

Maybe not the fastest thing on wings, but clearly able to keep up with them.

"Who is that? What is that? And why didn't anyone tell us about these triplechanger things?!"

Sam's ire drew Jazz's attention and the saboteur sighed deeply.

"That is Astrotrain. He's a Decepticon."

"No shit!" Sam barked, then looked vaguely surprised at himself. Jazz ignored it.

"An' I don't know why no one told you 'bout triplechangers. I haven't been here that long, remember? Though if I had to guess I'd say there's two reasons: they knew you'd react like this, and second, there's not that many of 'em left. There weren't that many to begin with."

"Will the others be able to handle him?" Mikaela asked in concern.

"Size ain't everythin'. Astrotrain is designed as a transporter, not a fighter. Now if it were Blitzwing I'd be worried, but this guy's easy. He'll beat it soon as he sees who he's up against."

"And Blitzwing is…?"

"Another Decepticon triplechanger. Meaner and tougher than Astrotrain." Jazz leaned forward as the 'con in question began to pull ahead, no doubt trying to cut them off. "That he's here ain't a good sign, though. Accordin' to intelligence he was teamed up with Soundwave, and if _he_ shows up we'll all be in a whole new world of hurt."

A dark silence followed this; Jazz wondered briefly if the two teens even knew why Soundwave was so dangerous, then decided against asking. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

And then a familiar, reassuring noise reached him and he almost cheered. A red car crested the hill and came hurtling towards them, slamming on the brakes and sliding sideways and transforming all in one easy motion. Astrotrain didn't get a single second to process this new danger- the red Autobot had already hooked an arm around the jet and swung himself easily onto the triplechanger's broad back. Exactly what Sideswipe did couldn't be seen from the humans' view point, but Astrotrain bucked and roared with pain. His engines fired up, trying to rid himself of this red menace as he twisted and pointed skyward.

Sideswipe dug in both heels and flung himself to one side, yanking the space jet off its course and sending it spiraling dangerously downwards. At the last moment the 'bot let go and dropped, landing easily in a crouch, and Astrotrain managed by some small miracle to correct himself before he ate dirt. He transformed into mech form and pulled out a nasty-looking gun.

The twin paused only long enough to glance back, checking on Bumblebee, and Jazz was once again struck by the look of unholy glee, the absolute love of fighting, that Sideswipe possessed. Then the 'bot was charging forward, heading straight towards that gun with no apparent concern for his own welfare.

"Idiot," Jazz muttered. Bumblebee obviously agreed, as all three humans found themselves unceremoniously dumped out as the scout transformed. He cycled out one of his cannons and snapped off a single shot, catching Astrotrain just above the elbow and delaying him firing that gun long enough for Sideswipe to tackle the Decepticon.

If Sam and Mikaela had thought the Mission City fight to be impressive, they quickly learned otherwise. Sideswipe was truly a child of war and he loved nothing more than the chance to turn his enemies inside out. He went after the large 'con with his normal reckless abandon, tearing into Astrotrain with the finesse of a French chef de-boning a pheasant. It took all of Astrotrain's skill, plus a large measure of desperation, before the 'con managed to push the twin away long enough to transform into jet mode. He turned so his engines were facing his tormentors and blasted off, forcing Sideswipe to scramble away from the backwash of heat. By the time the warrior managed to get his feet back under him Astrotrain was out of reach.

"Wow," Sam muttered. Jazz snorted.

"Yeah. Wow. Now just remember- that was Sideswipe alone. If Sunny'd been with him they'd've done twice th' damage in half th' time." The two teens exchanged looks of alarm at that. Jazz grinned. "Glad they're on our side, huh?"

"It wasn't… like that," Mikaela's words were broken apart as she tried to describe something she clearly found indescribable. "In Mission City, I mean."

"Th' twins are melee fighters," Jazz explained. "Frontline warriors. Very hands-on, literally. None of us in Mission City were like that." He sighed and shook his head, regretting the next statement even as he said it. "Most of our fights go like this one. Th' fight in Mission City was pretty tame."

"I didn't need help," Sideswipe said to Bumblebee, sounding not quite insulted. His battle-high had yet to wear off.

"Says th' 'bot who ran towards a big gun," Jazz snapped back. The twin only shrugged.

"So Prowl sent me to tell you we're having issues," the warrior announced. A chill slid down Jazz's spine and he wrapped his arms around himself.

"Say th' magic words, Sides. Tell me it ain't Soundwave." Sideswipe didn't look at him, an answer in itself.

"Who _is_ Soundwave?" Sam demanded suddenly. "And why are you so worried about him?"

"Remember Frenzy?" Jazz asked. By the brief flash of horror both humans showed it was obvious they did. "Well, Soundwave's kinda his boss. He's a hacker, saboteur, tactician, a decent medic, and an all-around damn scary 'con. He's a one-mech army an' I'm not so sure we can handle him."

"Worst than Astrotrain," Mikaela half-asked. Jazz laughed darkly.

"He could eat Astrotrain for breakfast. Hell, he could've given Megatron a serious run for his money. Why he didn't I'll never know."

"And he's in orbit," Sideswipe added. "So we need to get back to base."

"Damn," Jazz muttered to himself as the two mechs transformed back. "An' what a time for Blaster t' learn how t' disappear."

"Blaster?" Sam glanced at him.

"Our anti-Soundwave 'bot. He's not as impressive as Soundwave, but he's th' only one of us who can hold his own against him."

"Do you know where he is?" Mikaela tried hopefully.

"Right now I wouldn't guess if he's even alive. Sorry." Jazz dropped back into the backseat and stared out the window, watching as Sideswipe took up place behind the Camaro. This was not good. This was very not good.

This was war, kicking down the door. And this time around Jazz wasn't so sure they would win.


	9. Reinforcements

So I did a Wikipedia search on Swindle_, _to see what to use as his alt form, and I found out that he's actually in the pre-movie comics. However, in these he's little more than a grunt, with zero intelligence and none of his normal personality. I shall disregard the comics because I just can't picture him being stupid. And without his mercenary nature Swindle just isn't Swindle.

Also, I received a surprising (to me) number of compliments on the fight in the previous chapter. No worries, more is coming, although the twins don't get another moment in their full glory for a while yet. Also, as a bonus, Banachek gets a role in this story, because he's another one of those underappreciated characters that I've got such a soft spot for.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, so you don't sue me. Comprendo?

--

It would never cease to amaze Barricade how short-sighted these humans were. He was sitting at the corner of a crossroads and Frenzy was on the sidewalk, trying to figure out how to work an automated teller machine. A small group of humans had walked right by the hacker and they simply hadn't noticed him. Barricade wasn't one hundred percent positive, but he was fairly confident that a small mech beating on and yelling at an ATM should have generated some response.

This was, of course, after he'd shot out the camera overhead. Judging from the crescendo of his vocals he was getting dangerously close to shooting the ATM too.

"Who's on Soundwave's team?" Megatron asked abruptly. He'd been watching the hacker with vague disinterest, not having to listen to the little 'con's rant.

"Astrotrain, Dead End, and Swindle." Barricade answered distractedly; he was busy yelling over the internal com as Frenzy pulled out one of his guns.

"Swindle?" Megatron echoed, frowning at the steering wheel. The scout took a few moments before answering, using the time to explain in great detail what the humans would do to Frenzy if they found him, and by the way, if he shot that ATM Barricade was going to leave and tell the Sector 7 people exactly where to find him.

"Swindle. Used to be a Combaticon. Big name on the black market."

"I know who he is," the human snapped impatiently. "What does used to be a Combaticon mean?"

"The Combaticon team fell apart," Barricade said. He was down to trading sparkling insults with Frenzy, but at least the hacker wasn't shooting anything. "Bruticus went up against Superion and lost, and Brawl was in Mission City. Swindle and Vortex are the only survivors."

"Bruticus lost to Superion." Megatron said this carefully, clearly disbelieving it. Barricade grunted and muted his internal com, having run out of childish names to call Frenzy. "Well, Swindle's survival isn't surprising. He's good at covering his aft."

"And running away, and hiding, and talking himself out of situations where he can't run away or hide," Barricade added darkly. Swindle was pretty much universally disliked by his fellow Decepticons, mostly because he'd burned a large number of them in various business deals. Still, he was useful, and he could get his hands on some pretty decent stuff, so he had been tolerated.

Then Barricade had to swing his door open as Frenzy came scrambling towards him, claws full of the green stuff called money. He spouted a few lines of gibberish, dumped his burden on the seat, and took off again. After a moment the hacker returned, once again clutching two fistfuls of money, and Megatron reached across the empty seat to seize the little mech and pull him in.

"Stay here, I'll do it," he snapped impatiently. He slid out his door and headed to the ATM, which was spewing money.

"What did you do?" Barricade asked, torn between irritation and amusement.

"Machinenotgivemoney," Frenzy muttered. He seemed more upset than was warranted, not that the scout blamed him. He'd been put in a bad situation; forced to choose between following the contradicting orders of his two bosses. Despite the numerous issues caused by his deep-fried CPU the little 'con was a stubbornly loyal one, and he'd had to pick who he was more loyal to.

Then a sensor started pinging, and Barricade ran a quick scan. There were bonuses to possessing a police car as an alternate form, one of which being he cold pick up on and hack into the radio frequency the police used with ease. He rode the airwaves for a moment, listening to the overlapping chatter, then shifted his attention.

"Go get Megatron," he ordered Frenzy. "It's time to leave."

The hacker whooped and propelled himself out the open door, chanting 'get Megatron' as he went. He slid to a stop beside the human and within moments they were both heading back towards the scout.

By the time the real police car swung around the corner, following up on some odd call that an ATM was being 'mech raped', whatever that meant, Barricade was several blocks down the street. Megatron was counting the money- he needed it for human food and the odd woven fabrics he wore. Previously the human he'd been traveling with had stopped at an ATM for money, leading the 'cons to do the same with arguable success. The scout thought nothing of the cars on the road around him, but Frenzy pivoted in his seat, finally slipping into the pack and pressing his face against one of the tinted windows. Then he started tapping against it.

"What are you doing?" Megatron snapped; repetitive noises seemed to easily annoy him.

"Meknowsquishie," came the reply. There was a brief pause as the other two tried to translate this. Frenzy noticed the silence and hissed angrily. "Bigblackcarfollowussquishieinit me-know-squishie!"

Barricade ran a quick scan and focused on a black SUV looming up behind him. His optical range in this form was limited, so he ordered Frenzy to send him an image of the squishie over their internal line. It took four tries to get the hacker's attention- the little monster was too busy gibbering at the car behind them and making odd hand gestures, folding all but one of his fingers down and waving it around. When he finally noticed his partner's growing agitation the hacker launched himself into the front passenger's seat.

"Screen," he barked, and Barricade let him have it without hesitation. The hacker input the image and did a background search. What he found had him screeching.

"Sector7!" he shrieked, hitting a note so high Barricade winced. "Sector7Sector7Sector7--"

"Shut up!" Megatron roared and Frenzy went mercifully silent, although far from still. When it seemed like nothing was threatening the peace the human continued in a quieter tone. "What is Sector 7?"

"A human organization," Barricade answered as he downloaded the info off the screen. "They're the ones who were holding- uh, had the Allspark." He corrected himself mid-sentence; nothing good could come of reminding Megatron of his captivity. The former mech turned the screen so he could read it.

"Thomas Banachek," he muttered aloud. "One of the directors of Sector 7 and descendant of one of the founders. It says here Sector 7 was disbanded." He glanced in the mirror, watching the SUV. "Is he following us?"

"No," Barricade had already concluded this. He'd cut into traffic just ahead of the human's vehicle; if Banachek was following them he'd started within the past two minutes.

"Good." Megatron sat back and continued to stare at the screen. The thought of running galled him, but they could afford to do nothing that would draw attention to themselves. "Get us out of here."

Barricade turned onto a side street, thankful when the human didn't follow, and tried to meander his way out of the city and onto the highway. His vehicle form was one with a lot of speed and engine power; he could easily outrun anything the humans sent after him. Then he braced himself as he asked the inevitable question.

"What now?" Megatron turned a dark gaze on him, daring him to be so bold. The scout ignored this and continued. "We can't keep avoiding the humans and the Autobots _and_ any Decepticons who come here."

"It's Soundwave's turn," the human replied. "The ball is in his court, as the humans say. He'll send someone else to track you down, probably Ravage."

"Ravage won't be any easier to talk to," Barricade warned. Megatron laughed.

"But he will be a good deal easier for you to defeat," came the answer, and Barricade considered this. Nothing got to Soundwave like the destruction of his cassettes, the scout knew. And Ravage was his favorite. Kill the felinoid and Soundwave would descend upon the planet in righteous fury.

_So long as he gets here soon_, Barricade thought. He was getting tired of this, and he knew Megatron had to be far beyond tired by now.

And then they were on the highway, leaving the city miles behind as they wandered wherever they so desired. They were unaware that far behind them, a certain former agent was dialing a familiar number into his cell phone and warning his slightly left-of-center partner to prepare for the shit to once more hit the fan.

--

Sam was still shaking.

He had given up on pretending to drive and, in a complicated maneuver that would never be repeated, had traded seats with Jazz. So now he was sitting in the back seat, fully understanding why the saboteur had been complaining, and trying to figure out when this had gone from 'interesting, yet not dangerous' to 'ohmygod _giant Decepticon attacking_!'.

Another nervous glance confirmed Sideswipe's presence just behind them. It was as though the fight had drained all of the twin's rambunctious personality. He was acting, heaven forbid, mature as he followed them without a single comment. Sam was seeing him in a whole new light- previously he'd been a twenty-eight foot tall teenager. Now the human saw him for the deadly warrior he really was, and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it. Sure, they were all fighters, he'd known that from the first moment Barricade and Bumblebee had started duking it out. But Bee and Prime and even Ironhide all seemed to consider fighting as a responsibility, something they had to do as part of their reason for existing.

Sideswipe had _loved _it. He'd had a sort of manic glee about him as he'd gone after Astrotrain, looking like a lion bringing down an antelope what with the ease and grace he'd shown. The others fought because they had to. Sideswipe fought because he wanted to. To be perfectly honest, this sort of alarmed Sam.

"Y'okay, Sam?"

He looked up and met Jazz's gaze, still shielded by those sunglasses, in the rearview mirror. After a moment to process the question Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just…"

"Scared?" Jazz asked wryly, then waved away Sam's sputtered protest. "I'm not sayin' I blame ya. Hell, I'm scared. I don't want Soundwave or Astrotrain showin' up any more'n you do."

Soundwave. Jazz gave a kind of shivered every time he said the name, a clearer sign of what he thought of the Decepticon than anything that could be said aloud. Mikaela had tried to get a little more information about him out of the various 'bots, but the only response she had gotten was that it was too difficult to explain.

Sam sighed and slouched lower in the seat, trying to twist around and give himself more room as he did so. Hard to believe, he thought wryly, that it had been less than two days ago that his life had still been perfectly normal. Okay, so his definition of 'normal' was a little weird, thanks to the giant alien robots, but still. Two days ago he'd been quite contentedly oblivious of any new war brewing on the horizon. He didn't know what was worst- knowing what was coming and being unable to do anything about it, or not knowing anything and getting broadsided by this.

Then he remembered how Astrotrain had burst out of the trees, looking like the train from hell intent on killing them all, and decided quickly he'd rather know what they were up against.

His cell phone started ringing. Sam grunted and rolled to one side to pull it out of his pocket.

"Hey son," called a familiar voice before he could say anything. The boy groaned. "Aw, don't be like that. You're gonna love hearing what I've got to tell you."

"Who's that?" Mikaela asked from the front seat. Sam mouthed the name 'Simmons' and she frowned. The man was a necessary evil- still a total jackass, but he'd toned down the attitude in regard to the Autobots. And as far as his job as official Autobot-government liaison went, he was best qualified for it and did it well. None of which meant Sam had to like him.

"Don't call me 'son'," he demanded.

"Your buddy Barricade was spotted in Ohio," Simmons continued as if Sam hadn't spoken. The teen started to say something, then stopped abruptly.

_Barricade is the harbinger._ So said Primus. And when someone who was the Cybertronian equivalent to God said something, it was probably best to listen.

"Lemme guess," Sam muttered. "He had a human with him?"

"Uh, yeah," Simmons answered, thoughts momentarily derailed by Sam's accuracy. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess. So who is he?"

"The human?" Simmons laughed darkly. "Kid, you give us way too much credit. It's not like we have a magic wand we can wave to get all the answers. Anyways, he was spotted with that little monster Frenzy, so he knows what they are and doesn't seem too bothered by it."

"Where were they?" Sam pressed. He was slightly shocked that Simmons was telling him all this. Prior to now the man had been a black hole in terms of information.

"Dayton, Ohio. Stopped at an ATM and did something to it, it was still spitting out hundreds when the cops pulled up. Then they got on the highway heading south." Simmons paused for a moment, then continued in a much different tone. "Now, normally we'd track him using satellites. It's not that hard and he kinda stands out. But there's a problem."

"Problem?" Sam heard his voice waver and steadied it. He'd realized as Simmons was talking that he had absolutely no idea what was going on. The teen glanced up front and met Jazz's gaze in the mirror again as he pressed the phone against his hand. "Should we tell him?"

"Prob'ly. I know you don't like him but he can help. An' what problem are we referrin' to?"

"Something with the satellites," Sam answered. The saboteur nodded.

"That'd be Soundwave. He's gettin' ready."

Sam almost asked ready for what, then decided he'd rather not know. Instead he turned back to his phone.

"Back now?" Simmons asked. He sounded annoyed, and Sam figured he knew he was being left out of the loop and didn't appreciate it. "The problem is, military satellites are no longer sending or receiving signals."

"Only military satellites?" Sam echoed. Far more subtle than the total communications blackout that had descended last time. Then again, Soundwave was the Decepticons' communications officer.

"Yep. But here's the kicker: the other satellites, cell phones and whatnot, have been doing the same thing in waves. They go offline for a moment, then come back on. They only do it once, but it's spreading to all of them. Like a computer chain downloading a virus."

Or like a Decepticon hacking into and gaining control over them one by one. The implications of this hit Sam hard.

"Uh, can we talk at the base?" he tried. Simmons snorted.

"I'm not an idiot, kid. This is a private line. Your friends set it up for me."

"That might not be enough," Sam answered. Simmons considered this for a moment.

"All right. In the interest of fairness I've told you everything I know. Now it's time for you to spill. And don't say you don't know anything, because clearly you do. "

"Fine," the teen snapped back. "There's a Decepticon ship in orbit."

"In orbit, as in over this planet?"

"Where else?" Sam countered in exasperation. "Here's the thing. This ship belongs to Soundwave, who's the Decepticons' communications officer. He's also a scary bastard, although no one'll tell me _why_ he's so scary. The satellite thing is probably him taking over the world's communications because that's what he does."

"Soundwave." Simmons said the name carefully. Either he was writing it down or trying not to laugh.

"Yeah. Soundwave. And there's at least one other Decepticon here, although he'll be easy to find. He's called Astrotrain and he's a triplechanger. I'm sure you can figure out what that means."

"Triplechanger." Now the man sounded concerned. "So, what, he's got… three forms?"

"A giant train and some sort of jet-looking thing," Sam confirmed. "They don't look like they came from Earth. There's probably nothing on Earth for him to copy."

"Great. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Astrotrain's a pushover. Sideswipe took him down in, like, two minutes."

"Sideswipe ain't a good comparison point," Jazz put in from the front seat. "Astrotrain's 'bout as tough as, say, Ratchet. Th' only difference is with his size he should be stronger."

"Who was that?" Simmons asked sharply. Sam ignored him.

"So who else does Soundwave have with him?"

"Accordin' to th' info, Dead End an' Swindle."

"Who's talking? I know that voice. Who-"

"Oh, sorry," Sam said to Simmons. "I gotta go. I'll call you back." He then hung up, overriding any of the man's protests.

"Dead End?" Mikaela muttered. "Charming."

"Not as charmin' as the 'con himself," Jazz chuckled. "He an' Swindle were both gestalt members, but Swindle's team is mostly dead an' Dead End ran away from his boss Motormaster, for which I applaud him."

"He's a Decepticon," a scandalized Sam countered. Jazz grinned and shrugged.

"Sure he is, but he ain't a normal one. He's kinda… well. Y'know those commercials they show where people are just mopin' around? The depression medicine ones?"

"Yeah," Mikaela said slowly.

"Dead End'd have to toss back a dozen Prozac a day t' get that happy." A contemplative silence answered this. Jazz continued cheerfully. "He's a doom-'n-gloom kinda mech. Everything's 'why bother, we're all dead anyways' with him. Spends most of his time predictin' everyone's death and really likes goin' on and on 'bout how he's gonna die. Which is ironic, as he's one of the older mechs left."

"So who's Motormaster?" Sam asked. A depressed mech? He knew they were diverse, but this was ridiculous.

"His old boss. Used to be head of th' Stunticons, 'fore he got himself scrapped." Jazz pulled the sunglasses down just enough so that Sam could see the amusement in his eyes. "Do yourselves a favor. If Ultra Magnus ever shows up here, don't annoy him. He left Motormaster in 'bout a dozen pieces, and that 'con was one of the toughest out there."

"Ultra Magnus, huh?" Mikaela glanced at Sam, no doubt to see how well he was handling this never-ending list of names and information. "So, what, did he surprise you when he did that?"

"Ultra Magnus is a lot like Prowl," Jazz explained. "Very formal, very by-th'-book. Not th' kind t' lose his temper and lay into a Decepticon like th' twins do. So yeah, he surprised us."

Sam nodded as he absorbed this and rewound the conversation. He had other questions.

"So what's a gestalt team?" he asked after a moment's thought. Jazz snorted and shook his head.

"Y'don't wanna know. Just be happy knowin' th' only ones left are on our side."

"Are you sure?" Mikaela queried.

"Motormaster lost t' Ultra Magnus, Onslaught 'n Blast Off were slagged by Superion. Th' Constructicons had a fallin' out an' Mixmaster went Neutral. That leaves our two, so yeah. Pretty sure."

"Okay, so what about… the other one?" Sam put in. The saboteur considered this, then tilted his head to one side.

"What, Swindle? Real piece o' work there. He's… let's call him 'unique'. He's a 'con, sure, but he has an awful hard time rememberin' that."

"Do we have to worry about him?" Mikaela asked. Jazz snorted.

"With Soundwave callin' th' shots, yeah. But I wouldn't get too worried, Swindle ain't the most proficient warrior. He's much better at dealin' than fightin'."

"Dealing?" Sam echoed. "So he's…?"

"A merchant, mercenary, black market supervisor, whatever. He'd prefer to be out rippin' mechs off and makin' himself a fortune than fightin'. Makes sense, since he's so good at it. That 'con could sell ice to an Eskimo." Jazz laughed to himself. "Sideswipe used to be his biggest Autobot customer. They'd trade toys an' prank stuff an' harass everyone."

"So we don't really have much to worry about, then," Sam tried hopefully. Jazz's amusement vanished instantly.

"We still got Soundwave. He might not have th' best reinforcements but he's dangerous enough on his own."

"Right. Soundwave." Sam returned to staring out the window, trying to fit all he'd just learned into the big picture. He knew there were a lot more mechs out there than he'd heard about, but the casual way Jazz reeled off names left him feeling overwhelmed.

"So do the Autobots have any triplechangers?" Mikaela asked suddenly. Sam glanced up in time to see Jazz nod.

"Got a few. Springer, for starters. An' no, I don't know where he is." Jazz shot a look over his shoulder to check on Sideswipe. "We got a good team here anyways. We can handle Soundwave, it'll just be hard as hell."

Then they turned onto the road leading down to their new base and Sam sat upright. "I need to go home," he said. "I need to talk to my parents. The Decepticons know me, what if they-"

"Easy, Sam," Jazz soothed. "We're not gonna let somethin' happen to your folks."

"Captain Lennox and Ironhide are on their way to pick them up," Bumblebee added. Sam groaned as he pictured the reception Lennox was likely to get. Then something else occurred to him.

"So does this mean I don't have to go to school?"

Jazz snorted humorously. "Nice to see you got your priorities straight," he drawled. Sam shrugged helplessly.

Sunstreaker was waiting for them, arms folded across his chest and scowl firmly in place. As Sideswipe transformed he came over and gave his brother a shove.

"What's this about you getting into a fight without me?"

"Sorry, Sunny," Sideswipe chirped. "But you were taking too long. You didn't seriously want me to wait for you, did you?"

Sunstreaker growled, although whether it was because of Sideswipe's question or the use of the hated nickname was impossible to tell. Sam slid gratefully out as Jazz held the door open and stretched, enjoying the feel of having room to move. Bumblebee carefully moved away and transformed.

"Inside," he said, ushering both humans and twins. "Prowl wants to talk to us."

"Prowl always wants to talk to us," Sideswipe countered. "And I always get punished for something during these talks."

Sam smiled at that. Maybe picturing Sideswipe as a prankster and not as a violent warrior wasn't going to be too hard after all. Then his wondering was cut short as they walked into the building. Time to prepare for the worst, he thought grimly, and shivered.

Somehow he had a feeling the Decepticons' worse was far more than he could imagine.

--

"What happened to _you_?"

Swindle didn't try to censor his tone as Astrotrain stormed past. The triplechanger was moving with a noticeable limp and the mid-joint in his left arm appeared fused; he wasn't going to be making any sudden grabs for annoying commentators.

The larger 'con snarled in return, pointedly ignoring the question as he half-strode down the hallway. Swindle glanced back at Rumble, then abandoned their card game and followed the triplechanger. He maintained a distance just out of Astrotrain's reach.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, which I'm not, but weren't you supposed to bring someone back with you? Barricade couldn't have done this, could he? He's not even half your size. What'd he do, drop a mountain on you?" Then he pulled up short as the triplechanger turned, balancing his weight on his good leg.

"Sideswipe did this," he snapped. "Barricade hid his spark signal and ran away."

"I thought we weren't supposed to- what was that term?- 'engage the Autobots'. Last I checked Sideswipe is an Autobot. Or did the mean 'bot attack you without asking if you were allowed to fight back? Is _that_ how you got so slagged?"

Had Astrotrain been in a better condition Swindle wouldn't have said a single word, but with the triplechanger largely unable to fight back the smaller 'con felt free to get in as many hits as he could. The transporter deserved it, plus much more. Adding to the insults, Rumble stopped next to Swindle for a moment and peered at the triplechanger.

"Soundwave's torqued at you now," he stated grandly. Then he took off down the hallway, cackling the entire way. Swindle and Astrotrain both watched the little insect, momentarily united by their confusion. They exchanged bemused looks and resumed their trek towards the bridge.

Soundwave didn't look torqued. He looked as utterly bored as ever, standing at the console and watching the planet slowly revolve. In direct contrast to his stillness his little minions were scrambling everywhere, dragging data out of various computers and putting the pieces together.

"The Autobots know we're here," Laserbeak informed them. Swindle shot a not-quite-subtle look towards Astrotrain, who turned his back and set his shoulders.

"Your orders were: find and retrieve Barricade. Do. Not. Engage. The Autobots." Oh yeah, Soundwave was mad. Whenever he started breaking his sentences down like that, he was only a few steps shy of a spectacular explosion.

"Barricade concealed his signal and hid. He refused to answer any of my transmissions." Astrotrain was too busy sulking to be worried about Soundwave's temper.

"We sent you a feed of his location," Rumble put in. "He couldn't hide from you."

"Frenzy scrambled the feed," the triplechanger spat. There was a startled silence at that as all of Soundwave's gofers turned to the communications officer. He didn't seem to know how to process this. Despite his long partnership with Barricade, Frenzy was still one of Soundwave's symbiotes. That he would deliberately sabotage his team was illogical and therefore far beyond Soundwave's ability to understand it. Sensing a way out of the corner he'd put himself into, Astrotrain continued. "I felt an odd spark signal coming from the southwest of where I landed, and I went to investigate."

"And where does 'investigate' translate into 'get slagged by Sideswipe'?" Swindle asked curiously. He smiled serenely at the triplechanger's sneer, knowing he was safe from retaliation as long as Soundwave was present.

"It's our fault anyways," Rumble said, using 'our' when he clearly meant 'Soundwave'. "We sent in an idiot who's been itching for a fight. We should've sent someone who doesn't like fighting."

"And wouldn't go looking for action," Laserbeak finished with a bob of his head. Soundwave turned to face his two parasites as he considered this.

"Astrotrain, report to the medical bay. Swindle and Ravage, prepare to go planetside."

"What?" Swindle hadn't been paying attention, thinking instead that maybe they could leave since Frenzy and Barricade were obviously malfunctioning. Astrotrain laughed at him as he jerked upright. "Swindle do what?"

"Ravage will investigate the spark signal," Soundwave answered, toneless as ever. "You will track down Barricade."

"What?!" Now Swindle was panicking. Go on-planet? With the twins and Ironhide and Optimus Prime himself? No thank you. "I can't- I love fighting. I would search out the nearest Autobot and attack. I would follow them back to their base and get myself scrapped and sold as spare parts. I would… oh, slag."

Soundwave had been watching him, visor hiding anything he might be showing, but the basic meaning was obvious. There was no getting out of this.

A large hand clamped on his shoulder, pulling him over slightly. "Good luck," Astrotrain drawled, then pushed him away and sending him staggering into the wall. Swindle caught himself and turned, about to drop his normal good-tempered, there's-a-joke-in-everything facade and really let loose at the triplechanger, but the transporter was already gone. Left bereft of a target, Swindle focused a sullen glare on Soundwave.

"Rumble will provide you with an acceptable alternate form," the officer informed him. Swindle turned a wary optic on the little 'con, not sure he trusted the mutant with something this important. This was reinforced by the image that came up on the screen a moment later.

"That's ugly," Swindle stated flatly. Rumble shrugged.

"It fits your specifications," the little mech answered, not quite able to hide his glee.

Swindle started to argue, then thought better of it. Instead he downloaded the info on the vehicle- an H2 SUT Hummer- and stored it in his memory banks. Better to not take on his new form until actually on the planet. He turned away from the monitor, 'accidentally' hitting Rumble on the back of the head as he did so, and saw Dead End staring at him.

"And what's your problem?" Swindle asked darkly. To his utter surprise, the other 'con smiled.

"Nothing," came the response. "Just glad I'm not you."

Yeah. That was reassuring.


	10. Retrieval

Poor Swindle can't seem to catch a break in this story. First it was Astrotrain picking on him, then it was Soundwave bossing him around, then he had to go on-planet… And now he gets to face off against Barricade, which doesn't go as well for him as it should. In fact, this chapter is almost entirely focused on the Decepticons. The next one will probably be similar, but then they're the main driving force behind the plot at this point in time.

And for anyone who lives in Ohio, I apologize beforehand for any butchering of your state I may commit. The problem is that all I know of Ohio is that it's between Kansas, where I live, and Pennsylvania and Michigan both, where my mother and fathers' families live respectively. Every time we went to a relative's we passed through the great state of Ohio, and I would be either asleep or reading. Thus, despite having technically been to Ohio dozens of times, I am ignorant of its highway systems and basic environment. In short: I've taken some liberties with the scenery in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own TF. At all. -sigh-

--

Primus leaned back, reclining against the cube as though it were the universe's largest easy chair, and smiled to himself. Things were going wonderfully. Then again, he'd expected as much. The one currently calling all the shots was Soundwave; everything else was everyone's reactions to his actions. And Soundwave was so predictable- he was a firm believer in logic, making it ridiculously easy to guess what he would do next.

Equally as predictable, although for far different reasons, was the mech who was about to join Soundwave as major influences on the playing field. Swindle, probably the most self-centered mech currently in the game, was soon to make the journey to Earth. Once there it would take him a matter of minutes to realize how free he was, with no Astrotrain to torment him and no Soundwave to rule in silent tyranny.

Technically Primus could no sooner foretell Swindle's actions than he could his own demise; he was inarguably a here-and-now being with no powers of foresight whatsoever. But that didn't change the basic nature of the Decepticon. Swindle would do everything in his power to guarantee his continued existence, creating chaos and causing ripples. This was what Primus needed, more than Soundwave's cool control. Chaos was good. Chaos hid the obvious and distracted from the hidden. Chaos would allow him to appropriate the fragment of the cube without breaking any one of his kind's harsh laws.

Now all he needed to do was hope Swindle's network of friends and customers didn't extend beyond even Primus' knowledge. It wouldn't surprise him if it did- he had kept the Cybertronians at a distance, only occasionally checking in to make sure they weren't on the verge of destroying the universe or something. If he showed them any sort of favoritism, his kin would wonder why, and invariably discover the slight slip with the cube.

'Slight slip', of course, meaning he'd let it out of his sight for one moment and it went off and created an entire race.

Unless Swindle had a total reversal of character, he'd do what was best for himself and that would put a wrinkle in Soundwave's nice smooth reality. Since there was no room for intervention without the wrinkles Primus was inclined to help the former Combaticon.

And as an added complication, Jazz had figured him out within record time. This was no real cause for concern, as his name coming up had been inevitable, but he'd been kind of hoping it would take longer than five minutes. Now the Autobots would be, not necessarily prepared, but certainly aware of the prospect of his personal involvement.

_They think I'm a god. That I can wave my hand and do anything._ Primus snorted at that- he was powerful, certainly, but there was a structure to his power. Manipulation and application, that was his thing. He had rules he had to follow and there was still the ever-present line of what was and wasn't possible. True, his field of control was far broader than the lower races such as Cybertronians, but he was still just one being shuffling along the road of existence. He was bound by natural laws he couldn't begin to alter, forces far too powerful and massive for a race as relatively small as the Cybertronians to even comprehend.

His greatest weapon was the cube, a nameless artifact he'd created by accident in his younger days, an item that contained a staggering amount of his power locked within it. Primus hitched himself onto an elbow and stared at the jagged corner, trying not to think about the omens this presented. The cube would be reassembled soon. Then all would be well.

All he needed to do was wait.

--

Out of spite, Swindle chose yellow.

He'd been on the planet just long enough to take up his new form and found himself needing a color scheme. Because he was still feeling annoyed, he scanned the Internet and picked metallic sunburst yellow, also called 'sweet Primus my optics are burning'. Now he roared down the road, enjoying the feeling of power since he was so much larger than all the other vehicles, and getting stared at because he was too obnoxious to not stare. He supposed Soundwave's thoughts had been that something as big and gaudy and in-your-face as himself would draw less attention from Barricade. The scout was probably expecting Ravage to show up. He was in for a nasty surprise.

The orders, once Soundwave had deigned to give them, had been long but simple. There were to be no transmissions sent either way. The Internet and GPS locaters were to be used as little as possible. The live feed of Barricade's location was to be accessed only when absolutely necessary, giving rise to the interesting conundrum of his having to track someone down without knowing where to begin looking. once he found them, he was to get them to cooperate without causing permanent damage. It went on from there, but he hadn't really been paying attention. Instead he'd been silently sympathizing with Dead End's eternal fatalism as he pictured his brutal dismemberment at the hands of two overexcited Autobot idiots.

All of the aforementioned precautions were due to Frenzy, of course. The little insect was still doing a pretty good job of holding Soundwave off. He had always been the best hacker on Soundwave's team, and Swindle suspected that their prolonged separation had forced him to learn a good many other tricks as well. For now the communications officer was slowly unscrambling the feed, with Frenzy trying to unconnected the link altogether. Every connection to the Decepticon ship or human satellites could conceivably be picked up by Frenzy, which would blow the whole thing, so Swindle was effectively under communications lockdown.

Soundwave had started taking control of the satellites as soon as it was confirmed that the Autobots knew about them. He'd started with the military, then moved on to commercial. Now he saw and heard everything- cell phones, Internet connections, GPS systems… it was actually kinda scary when Swindle thought of it, but at least the 'con was on his side.

It was through this that Soundwave had picked up on a cell phone call reporting someone from Sector 7- a group that simply never existed, suggesting not only a cover-up but also Autobot assistance in erasing all hints. The human on the phone had reported seeing Barricade near someplace called Dayton. Swindle had landed just south of the coordinates and got himself onto a busy highway heading south.

Barricade's alternate form was a small but powerful car with distinct black-and-white markings resembling that of the law enforcement vehicles. In a race there was no way Swindle would win; he was simply too big to go fast. His best bet was to sneak up as close to the scout as possible and hit him with a debilitating but not lethal blow. This should be easy enough- he had a signal jammer that basically made him invisible to all scanners and sensors. These cute little gadgets were Shockwave originals. Vortex had given Swindle ten of them in exchange for a copy of Soundwave's hacking code, which would implant a virus that instantly off-lined any mech it infected. A useful thing, for Blitzwing was on Shockwave's team, and he made Astrotrain look pacifistic in terms of bullying. Maybe it was residual connection left over from their shared gestalt mind, but when Vortex had asked Swindle for help, he'd let the helo off very lightly.

So now Swindle amused himself by watching the humans alternately gape at him or scramble out of his way. This made his ugly car mode worth it. According to the phone call Barricade was heading south on this highway. Swindle could only hope that Soundwave unscrambled the feed quickly, because there was no way he was going to stumble across the scout on accident.

-_Hey, Swindle-_ Rumble said over the main line. Swindle slowed to a more sedate pace as he responded.

-_I thought we weren't supposed to talk on this?-_

_-Shut up and listen. Soundwave's got a feed from one of the military satellites. It's focused on the planet surface, and it captures images at a quality you wouldn't believe. We're using it to track Barricade. I'm gonna send you the images once every… two Earth minutes. The transfer should be fast and infrequent enough that Frenzy won't be able to sense it, let alone hack it.-_

_-So you're gonna send me pictures of Barricade from a satellite orbiting the planet?-_

_-Yep.-_

_-Well, that's great. If I were a jet I might actually be able to use that. Unfortunately, I'm stuck on the ground, and I can't recognize things from a picture from up in the air!- _The last four words were snapped out angrily, and Rumble went silent for a moment.

_-Take it or leave it-_ he said finally. Swindle groaned.

-_Better than nothing. I'll take it.-_

The line was cut off there and a moment later he received a bird's-eye-view image of Barricade. As he'd suspected, it was of no help. It showed the scout on a multi-lane highway that may or may not be the one Swindle was on. He considered asking, then discarded the thought. It wasn't as though the satellite could pick up Barricade but was blind to Swindle; if he were on the wrong road he was positive that annoying little creep Rumble would find some way to tell him.

So he followed the highway, wandering out of Dayton's limits and hitting open plains. The planet's array of organic life was startling- there was something everywhere, tons of plant matter and dozens of animals everywhere he looked. It was amazing to think one little backwater planet in a boringly ordinary solar system could support so much life. Even when the Allspark had been on-planet, Cybertron had never been nearly as populated. The area he was in was a broad expanse of green grass overlaid by a broader deep blue sky. Swindle marveled at this; he'd never been someplace where the ground was so flat and there was so much sky visible. It would be hard as the slagging Pit to maintain any form of stealth, but still.

And so it went, for almost fifty miles. The satellite images actually proved useful when Swindle suddenly recognized an odd-shaped building he was driving past- sure proof he was on the right road. He also realized from the images that Barricade was either going very slowly or had stopped a few times, for Swindle was gaining on him.

By the time he caught up they were obviously moving into another big city, for the number of lanes had grown and there were more on- and off-ramps. For a moment the former Combaticon had worried that Barricade might take a ramp and he would never figure out which one. Then a garbage truck rolled forward and Swindle spotted a black-and-white car with a Decepticon symbol on its right flank.

-_Found: one scout-_ he tossed to Rumble quickly as he eased across the lanes and settled just behind his target.

-_Good for you-_ Rumble answered cheerfully. -_Glad to know you're not completely incompetent.-_

Swindle snorted to himself and followed Barricade as the scout took an exit straight into the inner city. -_We'll discuss that when I get back.-_

_-No, thanks.-_

"Coward," Swindle muttered and ran a red light in order to keep up. By now he didn't care if he was spotted- the sooner Barricade noticed him, the sooner he would react. Then they would be on their way out of here.

--

"It's still there."

This was obvious, but Barricade kept his peace. Snapping at Megatron would accomplish nothing. Besides, he was starting to get worried himself. The neon-yellow Hummer H2 SUT had been on his bumper for a little over ten minutes, since just before they got off the highway. It could be nothing- Cincinnati was a relatively big city, and he'd been following well-traveled roads. And Frenzy's repeated scans had come up with nothing out of the ordinary. Probably it was nothing more menacing than some idiot humans, taunting the police car because he was far from Los Angeles. It certainly wasn't Ravage.

Whatever the case was, it was annoying and Barricade was getting tired of it. He cut sharply across two lanes and turned left on red, swinging through the intersection and missing other cars by a matter of centimeters. The Hummer copied the maneuver with suspicious ease, nearly rear-ending him when he slammed on his brakes. It skidded to a halt and sat there, blocking half the intersection until Barricade moved forward.

"Still nothing?" he asked a frustrated Frenzy. The hacker was worked up into such a fury that words were beyond him; he shook his head and emitted a static-edged shriek. Megatron studied him for a moment, then leaned slightly away from the jerky 'con.

Barricade spotted an access road and dove for it. He was nearly broadsided by a semi, but at least when he tore down the road the truck kept the Hummer from following. The road deposited him in the parking lot for a shipping warehouse. The scout immediately gunned his engine and flew around the building's corner, blocking sight of himself from the road. He followed the wall around to another access road and was about to turn onto it when something loomed up on his left.

He slammed on his brakes and swerved wildly, avoiding the Hummer's attempt to t-bone him and tearing off around a corner and back behind the building. By now Barricade had had enough. He swung himself around, opening one door and ushering his passengers out. They moved away quickly, almost out of sight when the Hummer took the corner on two wheels and screeched to a stop just shy of Barricade's side paneling.

The scout transformed, standing over the obnoxiously yellow vehicle, and pulled out one of his cannons, trying to scare the driver into running away. Unfortunately things went to the Pit with startling speed from there.

"What, gonna shot me?" a silk-smooth voice cajoled him. "Oh no. I'm so scared. Whatever shall I do?" The scout paused, trying to figure out what was happening, and the Hummer did the unexpected: it started to transform.

The newcomer stood easily head and shoulders over Barricade. A dark, unfriendly grin split his faceplates as he considered the scout. He rested his hands on his hips and leaned forward slightly. "Take your best shot, half-circuit, 'cause one shot is all you're getting. If you think I'm staying on this Primus-forsaken mudball for one- hey!"

Frenzy whooped unintelligibly and shot another one of his throwing stars at the back of the newcomer's leg. He moved at the last possible moment; instead of severing a vital connection the little weapon lodged harmlessly in his armor. The yellow 'con turned with a snarl, scooping Frenzy up and dangling him by one foot.

"Badswindle!" Frenzy barked. Unable to twist himself around well enough to bring up his hands, he instead kicked at his captor's hand with his free foot. "Badswindlebadswindle-bad-swindle! Le-le-le-leggo!"

"All right," Swindle replied jauntily, and did as ordered. The hacker realized the problem caused by Swindle's height, which was significantly greater than Barricade's, about half a second before he hit the ground. It took a few moments before he peeled himself off the concrete; once he did he launched into an impressive litany against Swindle.

"How do you tolerate this?" the bigger 'con asked Barricade despairingly. "And I thought Rumble was bad."

-_Frenzy, enough-_ Barricade snapped over their internal line. Briefly he wondered if Swindle could access it, then decided not. He was hacker, sure; Swindle was decent at just about everything, which was useful in his line of work. He wasn't on Frenzy's level, though.

"So I got orders to take you two back to Soundwave's ship." Now Swindle sounded bored.

"I told Soundwave I'd be happy to talk to him when he comes here," Barricade answered stiffly. He hadn't met Swindle before this and knew little of the other 'con's fighting ability, but he did know that they would both rather avoid any extraneous shooting. Megatron was wisely keeping out of sight and Swindle apparently hadn't bothered to run any scans of the area.

"Now that's too bad. See, my orders were to bring you back to the ship, using whichever methods I deemed necessary. At least, I _think_ that's what my orders were." He folded one arm across his chest and tapped his chin with one finger as he directed his gaze skyward. "I wasn't really paying attention, so I'm just guessing here. Sounds about right, though."

-_Lines.-_ Frenzy's voice crackled over the com and Barricade almost glanced towards the hacker.

-_What?-_ he asked.

-_Electriclinesbehindbadswindlepushbadswindleback.-_

-_'Bad' Swindle?- _Barricade asked as he studied the situation. Swindle was standing half a step in front of a telephone pole, and he was certainly tall enough to tangle himself in the power lines if something were to give him a slight push.

-_Swindlemean. Badswindle.-_

_-Fine, whatever. As soon as he hits those power lines, you get to Megatron and hide his spark signal. Get someplace where he can't reach and wait for me to contact you.-_ He lifted his arm and readied himself, the cannon whining in preparation. Swindle looked more annoyed than concerned as he scowled at the scout.

"Oh, don't do this. The sooner I can get you two half-slagged idiots on the ship, the sooner we can leave Autobot territory." He cycled air through his vents, sounding like a frustrated human sigh. "You can't possibly hope to beat me."

The shot hit Swindle on the shoulder- fighting programming kicked in and the yellow 'con turned and ducked in one move, keeping the plasma away from his spark chamber. The force of the blow forced him that one half-step backwards.

The telephone pole suddenly found itself supporting a three-ton mech as electricity surged through Swindle. Understandably the pole gave up the fight quickly and Swindle went down. Barricade paused only long enough to confirm Frenzy was gone, then he darted past the downed 'con.

Somehow, probably through use of various modifications gained throughout his long career, Swindle processed the spare energy with ease. He twisted and seized the pole, swinging it around and sweeping Barricade's feet out from under him. The scout rolled away and transformed, barely dodging a second swing as he lunged away. Cursing and still sparking slightly, Swindle scrambled to his feet and launched himself into vehicle mode. He seemed to be handling the excess electricity still running rampant through his systems well until he tried to take the third turn. Something locked up- Barricade heard the hollow _clunk _half a black away- and the Hummer slid sideways through a chain-link fence and slammed into an odd metal construct called monkey bars.

The contact with the metal would funnel away the electricity, Barricade knew. Not that it mattered much. He was too far ahead for Swindle's slower car form to catch up even if he wasn't half-electrocuted. He angled himself onto an on-ramp on the highway, pointing towards the inner city. A bright yellow Hummer would have a much harder time blending in amidst the crush of rush-hour traffic. He turned onto a bridge, near the bottom of one of those impressive tangles of roadways, and slammed on his brakes as traffic came to a dead halt in front of him. Lights and sirens would pinpoint his location, so all Barricade could do was sit there and wait for the congestion to clear.

And hope that, by some miracle, they all got out of this mess alive.

--

Swindle was starting to hate this planet.

He was dented, his paint scratched, his systems were still trying to process the excess electricity which his transformation had severely not helped. Unnecessary systems, including the conduit that fed energy to his engine, were shut down and refused to restart until everything was stabilized. There were humans nearby, all staring at him and talking. Most were small, the organic version of sparklings, and he ran a quick scan to make sure he hadn't hit any of them. Organic fluids were so hard to wash off. In short he was stuck here, unable to transform or pursue his targets- Primus only knew what hole that little gremlin Frenzy had crawled into, and Barricade was long past gone.

So naturally, it was at that moment that Rumble chose to harass him.

-_Nice wipeout-_ he laughed.

-_Shut up_- Swindle shot back irritably. -_Don't you have something better to do than bother me?-_

_-Not really. Anyways, Soundwave says that the order for stealth has been rescinded.-_

_-Oh really?-_

_-Yeah. He says you can trash the whole city if you want, just so long as you get those two glitches back. He also said that if you attract Autobot attention, you're on your own.-_

_-Yeah, because before this point he was so concerned for my welfare-_

_-Ya know, you're being awful whiny-_

_-I wonder why-_ the earth-bound 'con snapped. Before he could explain in great detail why he hated them all, a human appeared at his driver's door. It was yelling angrily at him and before he could do anything it wrenched the door open. The angry rant the little creature had been giving cut itself off.

"There's no driver," it said finally to another human nearby. Swindle had a moment's amusement at their confusion. Then the one human actually began climbing in, dropping onto the driver's seat and twisting around to peer into the back. Swindle tensed, wanting desperately to toss the human out on its sorry aft but unable to do anything.

A red light turned green in his CPU and control returned in a rush. He started his engine with malicious glee, already calculating many pieces he could disassemble Barricade to without breaking the 'permanent damage' rule. However, he had other issues to deal with first.

"Jack!" the human outside snapped at the one sitting _inside him_, which now that he thought about it was enough to make him feel slightly ill. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't do it," the confounded human replied. Swindle took it upon himself to relieve their confusion.

"I did," he growled. "You, human- _get out_."

"Who's talking?" the human outside asked. The one it called Jack was staring around Swindle's interior.

"I don't know… maybe a radio?"

"There's no radio, it's just me. The car. Get out, fleshling, or I will make you. And I really don't want to do that; organic goo is just so hard to clean out of internals, especially since I'd have to do it myself."

"Yeah, the car is talking to me," the human Jack muttered. It pulled out a small machine and the 'con ran an instant scan, well aware of how much damage even a small explosive could do considering its location. Judging by the signals this was one of the little wonder machine called cell phones- the things that had allowed Soundwave to take over world communications in less than one planetary rotation. "Look, whoever you are, I'm calling the cops. You'd better have a good excuse for nearly killing a bunch of kids."

"Kids?" Swindle spared a glance to the cluster of short humans. "The half-sized ones? You're, what, their guardian?"

"I'm their teacher," the human spat back. Swindle smirked to himself.

"Oh, good. That means you're much more likely to care if I were to do this." And on 'this' he slid a side panel back and his largest gun rotated out. It rolled up his frame and came to a rest on his roof, the gleaming muzzle jutting out in front of his bumper and pointed ominously towards the group of kids.

As it turned out, the small ones had a better sense of self-preservation than the big ones. Upon seeing the gun, most of the kids issued audio-cracking shrieks or screams, but they all proceeded to scatter like petro-bunnies glimpsing a turbo-fox. Swindle ignored this and instead focused his aim on the building beyond. Through the windows scattered along the ugly structure he had spotted a good many more kids than had been out here.

"Now, normally I'm all for negotiating and compromising, but you have caught me on a very bad day. Stay there and I shoot. Get out and maybe I won't."

"They're just kids," the human said softly.

"They'll be vapor if you're not out by three. One."

The human was out before he finished the word. "Oh look, instant cooperation," Swindle muttered to himself. He tucked the gun- cannon, really- back into its port. Since the human was out he wasn't going to even consider shooting the building. He was ruthless enough to be a Decepticon, sure, but he'd never understood the cold-sparked slaughter of other creatures. He was simply too much the consummate merchant- he might need those creatures one day, and even if he didn't, one of his future customers might be put off by his actions. Besides, these things only lived about a vorn. There was no need to shorten their already pitiful lives.

He pulled away from the building and back onto the road he'd left so abruptly. Barricade was, as suspected, vanished. Swindle cycled his vents in agitation, then pointed himself towards the scout's likeliest choice- the busiest road. After a little maneuvering he pulled onto a side street that followed the main road, although had significantly less traffic.

-_Hey.-_

Rumble was back. Swindle hadn't decided what sort of mood he was in, so he responded with silence.

-_So we got the new satellite images. It took us a minute to find Barricade, but…-_

_-Just send it-_ Swindle ordered tiredly. Yes, tired. That sounded good.

A few moments later he was scanning an image. Someone- no big contest who it was- had circled an area of the picture and written in bold glyphs 'LOOK AT THE PRETTY BARRICADE!'.

As soon as he got back on that ship, Rumble was getting drop-kicked into the energy core.

Then Swindle took a closer look at the image. The roads were crossed over each other, an interwoven pattern of curved ramps and high-soaring bridges. It was an interesting construct, taking the human's rule of _when you can no longer build out, go up_ and applying it to their roads. From where he sat the 'con could glimpse it between two buildings. He grunted in annoyance and started off in the proper direction, stopping abruptly when he turned a corner and saw the extent of the bridges. They were supported on disconcertingly thin pillars of concrete.

Now this, Swindle could work with.

It took him a few moments to translate the satellite image and identify which bridge Barricade was on. He used this time to better position himself, cutting across yards and lots until he found the ideal spot. His targeting systems picked out the supports to the right bridge and the gun once more emerged. He was almost ready to fire when it suddenly occurred to him that there were cars around Barricade, cars full of humans. He took a moment to compare the sparing of the kids versus the lives he was condemning now.

"Sorry, fleshlings," he said unapologetically. "It sucks, but it's orders."

And then he fired.

--

Barricade onlined slowly, trying to sort through the alarms and warnings and simply figure out what happened. The last thing he'd known, the road under him shuddered and twisted, then tilted, causing all the vehicles to roll backwards for a moment. Only a moment, though, for then the supporting pillar almost directly under him had given out and the last he'd seen was the ground rushing towards him.

Now he was trapped, still in vehicle form, with an immense weight pressing down on him. He ran a few quick scans and found the damage was all minimal- he'd offlined merely because his car mode was less heavily armored and simply couldn't take the same punishment as his mech form.

A stray beam of sunlight was highlighting his hood. It flickered a few times as something moved just outside his prison. There was muttering from a now-familiar voice, a voice with the slickness and confidence he had always associated with politicians, and a slab of concrete was lifted off him.

"Look what I found," Swindle drawled. He seized Barricade's front fender and bodily dragged the scout out. "Fancy seeing you here. Now, let's try this again. We are gonna go get Frenzy and we are getting off this slagging planet. Run one more time and I'm gonna get mad. Got it?"

Barricade glanced towards the pillar, or what was left of it. It was simply gone, a ragged stump in its place. The shot had gone straight through and hit the side of another bridge beyond, leaving half of that road crumbled and falling. The damage suggested a weapon far superior to anything a mid-level grunt like Swindle should possess. In fact, it was similar to the level of firepower carried by the Autobot Ironhide.

Megatron could handle himself, Barricade decided abruptly. There was certainly no reason for the scout to irritate Swindle any more than he already had.

"Got it," he answered shortly. Swindle smiled at him cheerfully and transformed back into his eyesore of a vehicle mode.

-_Frenzy-_ Barricade tried the line to his partner and was surprised to find it operational. For some reason, communications were always the first thing to give out when he was damaged.

-_Barricade! Youalive?- _Frenzy's startled response did nothing to soothe the scout.

-_Yes, I am. Swindle shot out the bridge I was on. We're coming to get you. See if you can find a way to shield Megatron's spark signal and wait for us back where we separated. With any luck we can still make this work.-_

Swindle honked and revved his engine, crowding close to Barricade's fender as the first of many emergency vehicles went flying past them. Knowing how well they both stood out, the scout agreed with the former Combaticon's newfound urgency and revved his own engine in response. After a quick check to make sure nothing was going to fall off, he followed the road back down to where he had told Frenzy to meet them.

Luck was all they had, and judging from today's events it was in short supply.


	11. Deals

The leash slips in this chapter, and two forces that were previously contained are now free to roam: Swindle's desire for freedom and his willingness to do anything to get it, and the twins. In the next chapter these forces will clash epically. Also a far more subtle power is in effect: Ravage. Forgot about him? I didn't.

Very soon Primus will have his required chaos, probably just in time for him to get his hands on the Allspark shard. Given his goals and motivations, I can't help but think of him as another bad guy, but as he is a deity- I hesitate to say 'god' here- it's his responsibility to do what's best for the majority, right? And his long-term survival is definitely in the interests of the majority. So what side of the line does he fall on? His future actions decide that quite firmly, but for now… he's nice and mysterious, he is, which is exactly how I wanted him.

Disclaimer: Wow, lookie here, I still don't own it.

--

For the third time since he'd gotten up, Sam dialed in his home number. For the third time, he snapped the cell phone shut just before it made the call. His parents were safe, he knew. They'd refused to come back to the Autobot base with Captain Lennox, so Ironhide had parked across the street and was keeping watch on the house. The 'bot could certainly handle himself; he was the best qualified to guard Sam's parents. And Sam had to be extra careful, as Jazz had reminded him, for by now it was a safe bet that Soundwave could hear every phone conversation in the world. Once Soundwave, a die-hard loyal mech, learned of Megatron's demise, Sam would become his number-one target. There was no point in giving the 'con any more information than he already had.

None of which did anything to lessen his concern, or stop him from fiddling with his phone.

"Hey, Sam," Sergeant Robert Epps called to him. "Stop torturin' that thing and come play a few hands."

Sam glanced at him. He, Lennox, and Mikaela were playing poker- the two men had been amused to find that the teenage girl could hold her own against them. Sam, however, didn't know how to play and was too distracted to watch and learn. Jazz had been the opposite; he'd picked up the game within minutes, and had been banished when the others realized that he'd been applying his cunning and mental agility to come up with various ways to cheat. The saboteur now reclined across the nearby couch, watching and occasionally commenting.

"No thanks, I'm good," the boy responded. The older men exchanged knowing glances and returned to their game with the ridiculously high stakes of M&M's.

It was a little after nine a.m. and they were all trying to find something to do that didn't require use of the TV or computer, both of which could be monitored. Besides, the twins had taken over the rec room, declaring that they would keep watch for anything resembling Decepticon activity before banishing everyone else. Ratchet had gone to the med bay and was fussing around in there- the humans could see him and hear his muttering through the open doorway- preparing it for the inevitable wounded he would be tending to. Prowl was pacing around and forth in a matter reminiscent of a caged tiger while Bumblebee sat in his car form near the couch, probably just watching the humans.

They were all waiting for something to happen, Sam knew. He just didn't know what would happen first, or if he could stand the wait itself.

"Hey!"

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin at the yell. He turned in time to see Sideswipe stick his head through the doorway.

"What do you want?" Ratchet, looking as thoroughly rattled as the teen felt, snapped at the twin as he came to stand in the doorway. Sideswipe ignored this hostility.

"It's starting," he said simply, his tone surprisingly grim.

"What happened?" Mikaela asked, but no one answered. Instead they all followed the warrior as he ducked back out and headed down towards the rec room.

"We got communications blackouts," Sideswipe reported over his shoulder. "Cell phone coverage vanishing and AM radio waves going off the air. GPS and other location satellites are no longer responding at all. Landlines are randomly shutting off, and internet connections go in and out. Everything is just shutting down."

"Like last time," Jazz mused. "Only now they're bein' more careful 'bout it. Last time everyone knew when everythin' went off-line. This time it's all subtle. Most of th' people prob'ly think it's just a bad connection or somethin'."

"Exactly," the twin replied. "And they're being picky about their targets, too. Most people only loose their cell service and internet connection for a few minutes. The government can't get any of it to work."

"Soundwave's doing this?" Sam asked, catching Jazz's gaze.

"Yup. Told ya, he's a scary one. He knows what he's doin'. He's hackin' and monitorin' cell phones an' internet use, which is why people are gettin' it back. But he ain't lettin' th' government communicate with itself, since they're the ones with th' best chance t' hurt him."

"And the AM radio?" Sam wasn't sure he understood everything Jazz was saying, but he got the basic point. Soundwave was wrecking havoc on the world's communications so there would be less organized opposition to whatever he was planning.

"They learned their lesson," the saboteur answered flatly. "Satellites can be hacked easy, but radio waves- they're generated on Earth, an' not by machines connected t' th' internet. An' they're how th' humans brought th' 'cons down last time. I don't know how, but he prob'ly found a way t' get on th' air. This was most likely just an experiment to see if he could mess with th' radio. Problem is, he succeeded, so CB's out."

"This has been happening since yesterday afternoon," Prowl put in, still as calm and rational as ever.

"Yeah," Sideswipe agreed. "So there's nothing new there. But now there's this."

They reached the rec room before anyone could ask Sideswipe what he was talking about. Sam saw the giant screen TV and the news report on it and felt his stomach lurch.

Sunstreaker was standing in front of the screen. He glanced towards them, then sidestepped so he was out of the way. "Happened twenty minutes ago," he said, his voice for once lacking its omnipresent sneer. No one answered him; they were all too busy staring at the pile of cars and torn cement that had once been a freeway bridge. The screen had a scrolling marquee of information at the bottom of the screen. Sam felt slightly ill as the words 'seven confirmed dead, dozens still buried' rolled past.

"Is this being recorded?" Prowl was still all business, and Sam momentarily hated the tactician for being so remote. He instantly regretted it; Prowl's no-nonsense manner was probably going to be a big help in the days to come.

"Why?" Mikaela's voice shook. Her entire body shook, Sam noticed abruptly, and he slipped a tentative arm around her shoulders. She tensed, then relaxed and leaned into him.

"We may need this later," the tactician answered simply. He shifted his gaze to the saboteur. "Jazz, is there any way to determine who might have done this?"

Jazz moved over to the screen, considering it silently. After a moment he turned to face them.

"Looks like someone shot out th' supports to th' closer bridge, here and here." He tapped the screen in the appropriate places. "One shot went flyin' off, but th' second hit th' road behind th' supports. Th' second road couldn't support itself an' collapsed. Collateral damage only; th' main goal was th' closer road."

"Collateral damage," Epps echoed in disgust. Jazz frowned as he realized how his words might be perceived, then shrugged helplessly.

"We're talkin' 'cons here, Sergeant. They don't care 'bout th' casualty count." He turned back to the screen, muttering something that sounded like 'give me a minute'.

"Where's Prime?" Lennox demanded suddenly. "Those Decepticons wouldn't attack if they were facing him, right?"

"Presumably not," Prowl agreed mildly. "Both Dead End and Swindle are considered to be of above-average intelligence, and after his encounter with Sideswipe Astrotrain is in no shape to challenge anyone. Even Soundwave himself would be inclined to retreat from a fight with Optimus Prime. However, he is currently retrieving the Allspark fragment."

"So call him," the captain offered, and Prowl stiffened. Sam had the feeling they weren't going to like what he had to say next. He was right.

"I cannot," the tactician replied. He continued over the dual protests issued by the men. "Soundwave is closely monitoring all of our communications activity. Even though he doesn't know what we are saying, he would be able to deduce the current situation if we were to contact Prime. This is an ideal moment for Soundwave to press his attack, either on us or Optimus. I will not make targets of either."

"Does he even know what's going on?" Sam tried. Prowl didn't quite look at him.

"I don't know," he answered simply, and in those three words Sam heard the same pain and anger and helplessness he was feeling. Suddenly empathizing with the 'bot, the teen bit back the angry response he'd been about to unleash.

"Okay, I think I got it," Jazz said. He had somehow captured an image and pulled it into the corner so he could study it better. A glance at Sunstreaker and the image filled the whole screen. "See this here? Used t' be th' support pillar."

"It's gone," Mikaela, still pressed against Sam, pointed out. Jazz nodded and grinned at her.

"Exactly. It's gone. It's not crumbled, it's _gone_. See, if Bee'd shot th' pillar it'd've collapsed on itself 'cause he hasn't got th' power t' do more'n that. But it didn't collapse; it vaporized. That's more Ironhide's level."

"Astrotrain's got that kind of firepower," Sideswipe had folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head to one side as he considered the riddle Jazz was presenting him. "But I thrashed him pretty good. I'd say he probably went running right back to their ship."

"Soundwave could do that," Ratchet added contemplatively. "But he's not on-planet yet."

"An' mass destruction ain't his style," Jazz nodded. "He's more a 'roll out th' big guns if nothin' else works' kinda mech, an' whoever did this didn't try anythin' else first."

"The other two are only mid-level warriors," Prowl said as he frowned. "Neither of them possess the firepower required."

"Maybe not, but one of 'em's got th' entrepreneurial spirit t' pick up somethin' like this," the saboteur countered.

"Swindle," Sunstreaker hissed, his hands curling into fists.

"Wait," Sam objected. "I thought you said Swindle wasn't as bad as the rest of the Decepticons."

"I did," Jazz agreed sympathetically. "An' he's not. But don't forget, Sam, he _is_ still a Decepticon."

"Hate to interrupt, but take a look at this." Epps was standing in front of a laptop set on a nearby table. He glanced up and gestured for them to come over.

"So this is an elementary school in Cincinnati," the sergeant said as he showed them a video image of a large building. "About ten minutes before the freeway thing, a yellow Hummer crashed through the fence and wiped out part of their playground."

"So?" Sideswipe prodded. The 'bots were too big to see what was on the small laptop screen and so were standing in a half-circle behind the cluster of humans. At the red warrior's question the five exchanged glances.

"An elementary school's basically a learnin' center for sparklings, Sides," Jazz explained, and Sam was momentarily struck by how well the saboteur fit in with the humans even though he wasn't technically one of them.

"Anyways, the big deal is that this Hummer had no driver," Epps continued. "And the teacher who found that insists the car talked to him. Then it did this."

The video was low-quality; instead of a continuous feed it caught an image once every few seconds, like an ATM camera. The images were black-and-white and grainy, but at least it was positioned perfectly. They watched in silence as the Hummer appeared on the road beyond the fence, sliding out of control. It went over the curb with ease and took out the fence with its left side. After a moment of fishtailing it slammed into the support poles for a set of monkey bars, folding them almost double before finally stopping.

"Did you see…" Jazz began, then stopped as the video went on.

The kids had seen the Hummer coming and had thankfully given it plenty of room. For several shots nothing happened, then a man strode across to the vehicle and yanked its driver door open. He climbed in, probably looking for a driver, and there was another pause.

Then the Hummer rolled a nasty-looking gun out of its undamaged side, settling it across the roof and pointing it towards the school.

"Oh my god," Mikaela breathed. "He doesn't…"

"No," the sergeant said quickly and they all relaxed. Indeed, on the screen the man was stumbling away and the Hummer was withdrawing the gun, no shots fired. The car peeled itself off the metal poles and headed out through the hole it'd made in the fence, turning back onto the road and continuing its previous path.

"Definitely Swindle," Jazz said firmly.

"Why is that?" Lennox frowned at him curiously. The saboteur shrugged.

"Any other 'con would've shot th' school anyways. But Swindle, he's a businessmech through an' through. Won't do anythin' that might come back t' bite him unless he's got a really good reason. Back up th' video, t' before he made his grand entrance. Right… stop! There."

Sam blinked and peered at the screen. There was another car on the road, halfway out of the picture at the top.

"That's Barricade," the teen murmured in surprise.

"Yes it is," the saboteur agreed cheerfully. "An' that…" he played the video until the Hummer appeared. "Is Swindle. They're both Decepticons, and 'Cade's been waitin' for backup, yet he's runnin' away."

"What are you two muttering about?" Bumblebee asked suddenly, and everyone in the room noticed all at once that the twins were standing off to one side and, from the looks on their faces, plotting something devious. They exchanged a quick look and straightened up, Sideswipe steeping forward slightly.

"We did some research, and we figured out that we can get to Cincinnati in five hours."

"What?" Mikaela asked incredulously. "Cincinnati is, what, two thousand miles from here? How fast do you plan on going?"

"About eight hundred miles an hour," Sideswipe answered calmly, and there was a pause while all the humans tried to wrap their minds around this.

"Can they…?" Sam began, but Prowl obviously had figured it out.

"Even if you were going to Cincinnati, which you're not, you would be driving. Not riding in an airplane."

There were four voices giving a simultaneous 'oh' as the four true humans suddenly understood. Jazz wrapped his arms around himself and grinned.

"C'mon, Prowler, what could it hurt? Soundwave's still in orbit an' prob'ly ain't comin' down anytime soon. It's just Swindle an' Barricade. Maybe one of th' cassettes, or Dead End at a stretch. No match for th' Demolition Duo here."

Prowl actually looked as though he were considering it. Jazz saw this and continued, pressing his point home.

"'Sides, we can't not do somethin'. They shoot out a bridge an' kill seven people an' we do nothin', they're liable to start wonderin'. We can't show any weakness, any hesitation, or Soundwave'll be all over us."

That decided it. Looking as though he weren't pleased with either choice, Prowl turned to the twins. "Keep it contained," he ordered grimly. "Try to stay out of the city, and don't transform unless you need to. The point is to chase them off-planet, not annihilate them, so spare the fireworks."

Looking like a pair of hunting dogs that had just slipped their leashes, the twins nodded and gave vague agreements and were out the door in a red and yellow blur.

"So what about us?" Mikaela asked. Prowl gazed at her thoughtfully for a few moments, then abruptly transformed.

"Sam," he said, and the boy started in surprise. "We're going to your house to retrieve Ironhide and your parents. I also suggest you pack a bag with whatever you may need. Until Soundwave is dealt with, it would be safest for you to remain here."

"Yeah, speaking of that, is it okay if I brought my wife here?" Lennox asked. "I don't trust the government to be able to protect her."

"I understand," Prowl replied.

"That's Prowl-speak for go ahead," Jazz chipped in. Lennox nodded and started to turn away, then paused and turned back.

"So should I take Bumblebee or something?" he asked hesitantly.

"I would prefer to go with Sam, in case I need to speak with his parents," Prowl responded. "Bumblebee would be a safer choice than Ratchet."

Lennox nodded and glanced at Bumblebee. The scout transformed and the two were gone almost as fast as the twins.

"So it's gonna be just us an' th' doc-bot," Jazz said to Mikaela and Epps. He grinned at the looks he got and turned back to the TV. Sam watched them for a moment, suddenly afraid to leave. Things were happening too fast, he thought. If he left now nothing would be the same when he got back.

Then he shook it off and slid into the car- best not to think about the fact that it was a living being, not while sitting in it. The door gently clicked shut and they were leaving and everything would be fine when they got back, as fine as it could be under the circumstances.

Sam wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and rested his forehead against the back of the chair. Everything will be fine, he told himself. Just fine.

Denial being such a powerful weapon.

--

Barricade was certainly having a nice long chat with Frenzy, Swindle thought irritably. He could sense the back-and-forth on his scanners but couldn't tap into it. This annoyed him for reasons that were beyond comprehension. Probably because these two were turning into far more trouble than they were worth.

The original plan had been to go back to the warehouse were Swindle had first transformed, but right as they were pulling into the lot Frenzy vetoed the idea. So instead they'd gone back onto the highway and were heading into the city proper and Swindle getting to the point of total annoyance. He wasn't the vain type normally, but he didn't care for the damage caused by the impact with the fence and those metal bars. And Barricade definitely needed a few hours for his auto-repair to catch up.

"All right," the scout said suddenly, and Swindle drew his wandering attention back. "We've decided to tell you, since we clearly have no choice. Megatron is with us."

Swindle considered this for a few moments. "According to Starscream, Megatron is with no one. He said something about a human destroying him and the Allspark…"

"He was right," Barricade answered, and Swindle laughed despite himself. The one time the seeker chose to tell the truth about Megatron's demise, and no one believes him. No wonder he'd seemed so frustrated.

"All right," he said after pause. "So he's dead. And yet he's here."

"Yes. Here and alive."

"Well, it was kinda obvious that Frenzy's a little off-center, but you almost had me convinced that you were just annoyed into doing everything his way. No worries, Soundwave'll probably be able to unscramble your circuits."

"My circuits are not scrambled," Barricade snapped irritably. "Megatron is here and alive and, Primus only knows how, he's human."

"Uh huh. Not selling the circuits-not-scrambled part here, 'Cade."

"You'll see," came the dismissive response. Swindle gave a mental shrug and inched closer to the scout's bumper in case he made another dash for it.

They pulled into a parking lot behind a department store, one of the few places downtown where a 'con could transform without being seen. Swindle hadn't yet told Barricade of the new addendum to the original orders. That, he'd decided, was something best kept to himself.

There was indeed a human standing in the lot; a fairly big one by the species' standards. He was certainly taller and broader than most Swindle had seen, and he practically oozed strength and contemptuous power. Swindle ran a few basic scans, then a few more he technically shouldn't be able to, and settled himself low on his tires.

"Now that's freaky," he muttered. The human sneered and stepped forward.

"Swindle," the creature drawled in Megatron's voice. "Been busy, I see." He reached around and rapped one fist against the side panel under which the cannon lay in wait. Swindle smiled to himself. It had to be Megatron.

"Yeah, business has been good," he agreed brightly. The human stepped back and scowled at him.

"So good you're robbing your fellow Decepticons?" he snapped.

He'd recognized the gun. Oh well. "I rob everyone. If I treat one mech better than the next I'm playing favorites. Never a good thing."

"I wasn't aware Motormaster even associated with you," the human countered frigidly. Swindle suddenly understood the meaning behind this convoluted exchange.

"Hey, he was long past dead when I found him. He went up against Ultra Magnus and lost in a big way. Sadly, his force field generator was in almost as many pieces of the rest of him, but at least I saved the gun."

"How sad," Megatron said tonelessly. Barricade, meanwhile, was slowly inching away from the former Combaticon. Apparently he'd only just now thought to wonder where most of Swindle's toys came from.

Swindle suddenly tired of this game. He transformed and stood, towering over the human. To his credit the little thing didn't budge an inch.

"So." Swindle leaned over and poked at Megatron gently. The human slapped at his finger and scowled. "Megatron, huh? This is… well, this is different."

Megatron folded his arms across his chest as the mech rocked back on his heels and grinned. There would be trouble here. Unlike Barricade or Soundwave, Swindle wasn't particularly loyal- he had, in fact, become a Decepticon because it had been that or a slow and painful death. To keep him in line his superiors had always used one of two methods: bribes, highly effective due to Swindle's mercantile nature, or threats of physical harm, which was cheaper and easier and thus employed far more often than the first option. Unfortunately for Megatron he had neither the size nor the resources to apply either method.

Swindle had the upper hand. He'd trumped Megatron just by existing. This was too good to be true, and certainly far too entertaining to be kept to himself.

"Well, you really got lucky," he informed the human. "About Soundwave, I mean. It could've been any one of a hundred 'cons and you get the one who is loyalty guaranteed. Slag, even Screamer isn't gonna bother you with him here."

"Starscream is here?" Megatron tilted his head to the side and considered the former Combaticon. Swindle shrugged.

"Depends on how you define 'here'. He's 'here' the same way Soundwave is 'here'. Not on planet, but out in orbit. Your oh-so-reliable Air Commander irritated your communications officer and got his tailfins tossed into the brig."

The human was watching him oddly, which irritated him. He wasn't an idiot; killing or disobeying Megatron was a quick way to make Soundwave his number one enemy. No, if he wanted some form of profit from this mess he needed to be far more subtle about it.

"So I'm gonna contact Soundwave now," he said conversationally. "Mind telling me what I'm supposed to tell him?"

Megatron was staring at him, no doubt wondering about his easy compliance. Finally acknowledging that he could do nothing to force the mech to answer that, he shrugged and responded.

"Tell him what I've been saying all along," he said. "That he needs to get down here. And do not even think about mentioning the human part."

"Oh, no worries there," Swindle laughed. "I'm not gonna be the one to tell him his all-powerful leader is now an organic _thing_." While the all-powerful leader in question was trying to figure out if it was worth the trouble to take that as an insult he transformed back into vehicle mode and rested heavily on his tires. Keeping his mirth in check proved challenging, but he managed to update Soundwave as to the current situation. The eavesdropping Rumble expressed much confusion and continuously asked repetitive questions until Soundwave got tired of it and booted him off the line. Swindle decided this seemed like a fine idea and signed off before he gained the communications officer's full attention.

Then he put in another call. One of the many things he'd done to irritate Soundwave had included hacking and hijacking some of the officer's internal lines. Being clever, a quick learner, and thorough in covering his tracks, Swindle had managed to create his own private Soundwave-proof line that he could use to contact any mech within range. After three or four uses the communications officer would pick up on it, but he only intended to use it twice. He shot off a signal that gained his first target's attention.

-_What do you want?- _came the surly demand. Swindle chuckled.

-_Ditch the attitude, I've got something to say that you really,_ really_ wanna hear.-_

_-Like what?-_ Swindle ran a quick scan and continued only when he was confident of the privacy.

-_Like Megatron on a platter-_

_-Megatron is dead-_

_-Humor me.-_

_-Fine. What do you want?-_

_-You've got nothing to bargain with right now. Don't worry, I'll collect later.-_

_-I wasn't worried. I don't want anything from a backstabber like you.-_

_-Backstabber?-_ Swindle put as much hurt and offense into that one word as he could. The other mech laughed derisively. -_I'll admit, I'm not the most trustworthy 'con, but it's a little odd for you to be calling me that, isn't it?-_

_-Get to the point, Swindle, if you have one. I have things to do.-_

_-Like what?-_ There was a long silence after this, and Swindle ran another scan. Still nothing. Having made his point, he carried on. -_I told you Megatron didn't stay dead. I didn't say anything about _how_ he's continued living.-_

_-What _do_ you want?- _

-_Don't you worry about that. It'll be Soundwave footing this particular bill.-_

_-You want Soundwave dead?-_

_-I want _out- Swindle corrected. -_I'm tired of this army slag. I want to be a Neutral again, but that isn't gonna happen with Tall Dark and Silent looming over me. I want you to cause a distraction- you're good at those. And I'll just… slip away.-_ Which was nothing close to his true plan, of course, but telling this particular mech the truth was a very bad idea.

-_Fine. What have you got for me?-_

Miles above the surface of the planet, within the bowels of the Decepticon ship, still sitting in his boring cell, a certain seeker listened to what Swindle had to say. And then he started to laugh.

--

-_Hey, Dead End. I've got a pretty big favor I need to ask._-

Dead End lifted his head and peered around tiredly. A fully-repaired Astrotrain had found himself deprived of his normal victim and so had begun harassing the former Stunticon, leaving him with a reluctant respect for Swindle and the slag he put up with. After about three rounds of faceplates-meets-solid-object Dead End had retreated to his room.

-_Swindle?-_

_-The one and only. I've got news for you and you aren't going to like it, but first I need you to do something for me.-_

_-Like what?-_

_-Like slip a certain seeker the code to unlock a certain cell door.-_

_-What?-_ Now he was wide awake and not liking it one bit. He glanced around, well aware of how closely Soundwave monitored all communications. -_No!-_

_-Aw, c'mon. Where's ol' Doom 'n Gloom at? You know, 'we're all dead anyways, so I might as well do what Swindle wants'.-_

_-Soundwave--_

_-Can't hack this line. I made sure of it.-_

_-No, Swindle. You don't have anything I want. Besides, there's a difference between being doomed and being suicidal.-_

_-See there? That's what I want. Tell me about how we're all doomed.-_

_-Why?-_

_-Honestly? You're much more malleable when you're depressed.-_

_-Goodbye, Swindle.-_

_-Force field!-_

Dead End paused in the middle of shutting the line. He was used to Swindle blurting out odd things- the mech had the annoying habit of switching from internal to verbal comm. lines mid-word- but something told him this wasn't like that. -_What?-_

_-You remember when Jazz hacked Menasor's mainframe and planted a virus that shut down all your force field generators?-_

Did he remember that, ha. As soon as the saboteur had left his little gift, Menasor had fallen apart for the last time. Motormaster had figured out the Autobot's trick within moments and had headed off, determined to find the saboteur and start removing limbs. Unfortunately for him, he'd had his fatal encounter with Ultra Magnus along the way.

_-Well, I came upon Motormaster not too long after that. Or, at least, parts of him. One of those parts was his generator. I've been working on it, and while it's too damaged to work, I found a way to counteract the virus. I can pass you the code lines you'll need if you do me this one favor.-_

Dead End considered this. His force field had been immensely useful, and would undoubtedly continue to be so if he got it working again. If nothing else it would keep Astrotrain at a tolerable distance. After a moment's debate he came to the inevitable conclusion.

-_I want the code first.-_

_-Sure, I'll send it up. Soundwave should be too busy keeping watch over Ravage to catch you talking to Starscream.-_

_-It doesn't matter if he catches me-_ Dead End responded calmly.

_-No, wait, let me guess: you're doomed anyways.-_

_-We all are-_

_-Thank you, Dead End, for that vote of confidence. I can't begin to tell you how reassuring it is to hear such uplifting words.-_

_-By the way, you said you had news for me.-_

_-Hmm? Oh, I did, didn't I? Yeah, I've got news. You won't like it.-_

_-I never like it. I never get any good news.-_

_-Oh, please. Primus himself could come down and grant you eternal invincibility and you'd still find something to complain about. But anyways, this time you really won't like it.-_

_-Just tell me- _Dead End ordered.

-_Apparently I'm staying here for a while. Soundwave seems less than amused by this, and his plan appears to be to not give us what we want, which is him on this planet. He's decided that sending his minions after us one by one is much more effective. Unfortunately for you, you're up next.-_

_-What?-_ Dead End was back to alarm.

_-Yeah, you're joining the Idiots Stuck on Earth party. We have brochures if you're interested.-_

_-Oh, I'm dead.-_

_-Brig, Dead End. Code. Starscream.-_

_-I'm dead, I'm dead-_ he muttered to himself. Swindle's irritated snarl filtered down the line.

-_Not yet, but you're getting close. Brig!-_

Dead End got his feet under him and wandered into the hallway, keeping one optic open for Astrotrain. He made it down to the brig without incident and stopped in front of Starscream.

"I'm dead," he stated baldly. The seeker grinned, fierce and dark.

"And Megatron's human. I guess we all have our little problems."

That may be so, Dead End thought morosely, but his little problem was about to become very big and very real.


	12. Capture

What is this you speak? Late update? Pshaw, I never update late. I post every new chapter exactly when I knew I was going to post them. I am a highly organized, very scheduled person. Therefore I am not late, I am temporarily delayed.

(Translation: Idiot Flame went out half-nekkid in the rain, got a cold, and spent two days camped out on her couch eating lemon bars, reading Insecticomics on deviantart, and repeatedly watching the Jurassic Park trilogy. This did little to help her get better, but she did have a good deal of fun screeching 'ME GRIMLOCK EAT YOU HUMAN!' every time she saw a T-Rex on screen.)

Disclaimer: Well, I own… nothing. -goes off into a corner to cry-

--

Ravage waited, patience corporeal, until the scout and the tactician were several minutes gone. His engine was idling and his entire frame was vibrating- the vehicle mode Rumble had picked out for him didn't like sitting still. This unfortunately clashed horribly with his own style of movement, which could be best described as stalking. It was a manner affected by some of the planet's native organic predators; they had a felinoid appearance surprisingly similar to his own. Rumble, in full-blown annoying-little-brother mode, had had a great deal of fun pulling up pictures off the humans' internet and comparing them to him.

The spy slowly edged himself out of the small gap between two trees that he'd been using as a hiding spot. His matte-black finish had helped him blend in with the shadows, and the two Autobots had driven past on a road slightly more than one body-length away without noticing him. This was probably due in large part to the anti-scanning devices Soundwave had confiscated from Swindle, but Ravage wasn't downplaying his own abilities because of some cheap toys gotten through questionable means by a thief.

The Autobots had set up base in an old warehouse, set off the main road by several miles. Ravage followed the winding road up towards the building, sending a quick transmission of his exact coordinates to the ship. Unless and until Swindle located Frenzy, they were not to communicate with their space-bound team mates without taking the proper precautions. Ravage bounced it off one of the cellular telephone satellites, knowing it would appear to be nothing more interesting than another human on a cell phone, yet Soundwave would pick it up.

After a few moments he was close enough to run a few scans. The medic was still there, and two humans. The odd spark signal was also present, but Ravage wasn't foolish enough to risk an encounter with the Autobot Ratchet. True, he was faster than the medic, but it was better not to invite trouble.

He transformed into his felinoid form and leapt lightly on top of the building, scooting himself far enough in that he couldn't be seen from any angle on the ground. Then he dropped his head onto his paws and settled down to a long wait.

--

Swindle had said to wait.

Starscream stood next to the cell door lock, five of the six digits in the code already put in. He wanted out so desperately, but that treacherous mercenary had said to wait, and he'd had pretty good reasons to do so. Soundwave was still on-board, he'd pointed out, and it was doubtful that Starscream could give the communications officer the slip. Ravage and Dead End were on Earth now but Astrotrain was back and in high fury.

He wasn't a gambling mech, but Swindle was. He had no doubt the former Combaticon would put everything on Soundwave should the seeker run into him while trying to slip out. In fact, his odds were pretty dismal even if he avoided a confrontation; the ship was almost an extension of Soundwave, as much a part of him as any of his little midgets. Getting out would be difficult at best. Then he'd have to deal with the various issues on the planet itself. His jet form was fast enough to leave any Autobot in the dust, but it was also highly vulnerable to human attack. And unlike the roads by which ground-pounders like Swindle traveled, the air through which Starscream flew was closely monitored by humans. A mystery jet with no identification markers was a jet begging to get shot down, and as he'd found on his first visit there, if one shot so much as clipped his wing he was going down.

On the other hand, there was Megatron. As a _human_.

Both compelling arguments. Starscream stared at the lock and scowled. He wanted out, but he didn't want to get out only to get tossed back in, or worse. So he needed to wait until his weapons were back on-line, at least.

_Fine. I'll just sit here and wait and as soon as my weapons come back I'm gone._

He backed himself against the nearest wall and didn't quite sit- he was too fidgety. Although far from the most reliable of mechs, Swindle could be trusted to do what was best for himself. For this reason Starscream was willing to trust the other 'con- he had no reason to want the seeker dead, and he didn't do things without reason. After a moment the waiting became too much and he changed his plans accordingly.

_By the time I get the door open my weapons will be back on. I'll just wait right outside the cell._

He actually had no idea when to expect his weapons back, as Swindle had just given him an infuriatingly nonspecific 'soon'. But Starscream was willing to take the risk. He pushed off the wall and input the last number into the keypad. The energy bars hissed and dissipated. The seeker stepped into the room beyond and grinned darkly. True, this freedom wasn't too terribly free, but he was out.

_And what are the chances of running into one of the two mechs on board I can't beat? _He asked himself as he walked over to the brig door. Very slim, he decided, as he opened the door and wandered into the hall beyond.

Naturally, it was at that moment that Astrotrain came around the corner.

For a moment the two jets stood frozen, the triplechanger trying to process what he was seeing and the seeker cursing Primus and his own impatience. Then the much larger 'con smiled, a promise of pain and torture and all sorts of unfriendly experiences, and cycled out one of his cannons. Starscream tried to do the same and nearly screeched with fury when he received the now-familiar error reading.

So he tried something new, something the human sparklings did to get out of trouble. He pointed just over Astrotrain's shoulder and yelled, "Look! It's Defensor!"

He didn't know which was sadder- that he was forced to rely upon such humiliating methods, or that it worked. Before the triplechanger could turn to face his imaginary opponent Starscream was gone, bolting in the other direction and heading towards an air lock.

The massive doors were hissing shut behind him, leaving him in the bay and preparing for ejection into the vacuum of space, when the computer chirped an alarm. This time Starscream did produce an audio-piercing shriek of rage as the lights went out and the computer shut itself down. He slammed a fist against the screen, sending lines of sparkling cracks webbing across it, but its message didn't change. Swindle had been right; without even leaving the bridge Soundwave had stopped him.

And then, the glorious soft _ping_ of his weapons coming back online issued throughout his CPU.

The hall doors jerked open, manual override making them slow and clunky, to reveal Astrotrain. Starscream steadied his arm, aiming his null ray, and fired. The triplechanger recoiled from the sound and snapped off a few shots of his own, but they went wide as the blasted 'bay doors gave in to the inevitable and were yanked right off their tracks. Starscream transformed and blasted through the new opening, which was barely big enough for him and therefore far too small for Astrotrain, and into the dead of space.

His Earthen jet form wasn't meant for space travel. Starscream had made a few adjustments, but it was still slow and awkward. He pointed himself towards the planet, where he was undisputed king of the sky, and fired up his engines.

The first shot splashed across his left wing and sent him spiraling wildly; the rest missed as a result. He steadied himself and swung around to find Astrotrain in mech form, hanging half-out of the hole Starscream had shot through the 'bay doors.

All the fury and humiliation and hatred the seeker had been containing since Megatron's revival came to the fore. He gave a bellow of rage and peppered the hull of the ship with his own fire, causing the triplechanger to duck back out of the way. The seeker continued his strafing run, leaving dark streaks across the ship's sleek silver hull. When he reached the engines he traded out the smaller guns for explosives. It was a one-in-a-million shot, and he made it.

The chain started in the left auxiliary engine. Several small blasts shook the ship's frame; then the blooming explosions moved to the main engines. From there it was all just a matter of time. The big ship gave a low, keening noise. After a moment the noises all stopped and the cruiser slumped forward, the ever-present thrum of engines silenced. There were no lights, no movement, from the bridge.

In one immature temper tantrum, Starscream had effectively crippled Soundwave's ship.

The seeker sat, hovering in space and gaping at his handiwork. Then he shook himself and once more pointed towards Earth. If Soundwave caught him, the communications officer would use his head as a trophy and his body as spare parts to fix the damage. While he was still alive.

He didn't slow down until he was screaming through the atmosphere, his armor turning brilliant red and his wingtips trailing fire. By then it was too late; he had too much momentum to slow down to a safe speed. He blew through a screen of trees and hit the ground, bounced off, and hit once more. This repeated several times as he skimmed over almost twenty miles of ground. Then he hit water and sank like a stone.

Starscream pulled himself onto the beach and dropped to the sand. He was hurting in too many places to count, most of it due to the least graceful landing of his life. After a moment he got to his feet and staggered a few steps into the nearby forest before almost collapsing into his jet form.

He entertained himself by imagining the human Megatron being kept in a cage until he finally drifted off into recharge.

--

"So… any ideas on how to return to being, ya know, big and scary? Or are organics the new 'in' thing?"

Megatron opened his eyes and slowly turned to look at the yellow Hummer that was currently talking to him. Swindle sounded as obnoxiously amused as ever, his tone a verbal smirk. Under normal circumstances Megatron would shut him up with one hit. Now he could be armed with a jackhammer and the only threat he would pose would be to the mech's paint job.

"As soon as Soundwave joins us, we will retrieve the Allspark piece from the Autobots," he said, because it was just so much easier to simply tell him than refuse to say anything and deal with a subtle interrogation for the next six hours. Besides, Swindle was a smart mech. He'd probably already known the answer before he asked the question. Which was a problem, really. Barricade wasn't exactly stupid but it didn't appear to have sunk in yet that he was currently much more powerful than his leader.

"Get the Allspark piece," the merchant echoed. "Well, that sounds outstandingly easy. And so well thought-out, too. Never would have predicted such a brilliant strategy, which is why you're obviously still the High Commander and I never was. Good thing there are no height requirements."

Swindle, on the other hand, had realized immediately the vulnerable position Megatron was in, and took it upon himself to remind the human of it at every available opportunity. And unless he felt like making a fool of himself, there was little Megatron could do about it. Briefly he wondered if the former Combaticon had gotten word out yet; that he would find a way around Soundwave's communications roadblock was inevitable. The real question was who would use this interesting tidbit of information in a manner that best benefited Swindle himself.

Deciding that this entire conversation had been a waste of time, Megatron turned away from the yellow monstrosity and tilted his head back, studying the deep blue sky. Several hours ago something had happened to Soundwave's ship. Swindle had reported it as the engines failing, but the human didn't believe it. He'd been there for the construction of that ship, had watched his communications officer loom over all the mechs around, his symbiotes running to and fro and putting forth unrealistic commands for the designs. Those engines wouldn't just _fail_; something happened to them.

"_Power's still on, but that thing's not going anywhere for a while,"_ Swindle had said cheerfully. The general implication had been that Soundwave wasn't going anywhere either. He would stay on his ship and focus on repairs, thus delaying Megatron's plan even more.

"Dead End's on-planet," the Hummer announced suddenly.

"Dead End," Megatron echoed. "Wonderful. At least he won't be foolish enough to challenge you."

"Me?" Now Swindle was laughing. "What's so special about me?"

"You could turn him into scrap metal without trying," the human said. He shifted and scowled when the 'con continued to laugh.

"Yeah, sure I could. Problem: he's got his force field generator back on-line. Nothing I got can get through that."

"His generator's on-line? When did that happen?"

"Ahh, very recently."

Megatron turned in his seat to stare at the yellow vehicle. After a moment Swindle noticed this and his mirth faded.

"Define 'recently'," the human ordered coldly.

"What do you want, for me to say I felt sorry for the guy and told him how to fix it before I left for Earth? Fine, I did. Forgive me for thinking about others."

"Except you don't care about others," Megatron snarled. "You use them to your advantage and then you throw them away. What did he give you in exchange for this?"

"What did he have to give me? Not much. Are you trying to subtly ask me if I told him about you?"

"What is the going rate for selling out your leader these days?" Megatron asked coldly. By now he was standing in front of the Hummer's grill. Swindle's manner changed noticeably, from trying to shrink away from the conversation to frigidly defensive.

"If you want someone to say that they would never do something like that, go talk to Soundwave. He's the loyal one; I'm just a merchant. I sell everything I get my hands on. I'm sorry if you're a little upset at this, but you haven't got much to complain about. Until Soundwave gets here, and possibly even afterwards, you're just a human who _used to be_ the Decepticon leader. And I'm pretty sure that one little segment of the Allspark isn't going to change that." Here the mech paused for a few moments, then continued in a hurtful tone. "Besides, I've been nothing but loyal to you so far, which is fairly new for me. Give me some respect, all right? If Dead End knows about your problems he didn't hear them from me."

Megatron almost turned away, but stopped at the last moment. "What does that mean? No one besides us here should know about my 'problems'."

Swindle mulled this one over for a moment, then said in obvious relief, "Oh look, there's two Autobot signals rapidly approaching. Maybe we better get Barricade and get out of here."

"I thought you said they couldn't track you."

"I'm not the one putting out a weird spark signal," came the dry response. "Oi, Barricade! Autobots incoming. Get your trunk monkey and let's move out."

The scout had been sitting off to one side, in light recharge as his self-repair systems fixed the damage of having a freeway bridge dropped on him. He tensed slightly as he came awake.

"Get my what?"

"Yes, because of what I just said, 'trunk monkey' is far more interesting than 'Autobots incoming'," Swindle drawled. "Spaz-con, mutant, annoying little monster, Frenzy- pick one. Just get him and let's get moving!"

They all heard Frenzy give a wild whoop; then he scuttled out of the alley he'd been hiding in and galloped over to Barricade. Megatron had turned and taken two steps towards the scour when Swindle barked out an inelegant curse and started his engine.

"Too late, get in!" he snapped. The human didn't pause; by now he could feel the vibrations of two powerful vehicles approaching rapidly. He ducked through the open door and dropped onto the seat just as the door was slammed shut.

And then two sports cars flew around the corner, a pair of red and yellow streaks that roared up behind the two Decepticons. The red one went on Barricade's far side, the yellow slid between the two 'cons. Frenzy whooped again and started shooting at the yellow side paneling. It did no real damage, but it did leave a long line of dents along the car's flank. Immediately the yellow one gunned its engine and shot forward.

Swindle bit out another curse as he started moving. He plowed through a wooden fence as though it weren't even there and swerved onto the road beyond, slipping into traffic with an ease surprising considering his size.

"We're splitting up," he said tersely. "Easier to handle one of the twins than both."

Megatron caught the armrest in one hand and the steering wheel in another. He pulled himself upright and hastily buckled in. He glanced into the rearview mirror as Swindle groaned. The yellow one- Sunstreaker- had pulled onto the road behind them.

"Wonderful. I get the sociopath one."

"What difference does that make?" Megatron demanded.

"Makes a lot of difference to me. I kinda want to live past this encounter."

"Oh really?" He studied the steering wheel contemplatively. "Well, if you're not going to survive this, tell me now who else knows about me."

"Bigger things to worry about!" Swindle yelled. He pulled off the far side of the road and onto the curb, scattering humans as he sped up. Megatron lifted his gaze to watch as the Autobot tried to maneuver his way onto the curb as well, but was blocked by a garbage truck.

"Not anymore," he shot back.

"Well now I'm going to survive this, so I see no need to answer that question."

"Swindle…" the human growled.

"All right, fine! You really want to know? You don't but I'll tell you anyways. I told Starscream."

"You did _what_?" Megatron demanded. Had he been a mech, everyone would have been fleeing his vicinity because that tone implied someone was going to die, whether or not they had anything to do with why he was upset. Swindle merely laughed.

"Yes, o glorious leader, I told Starscream. He's probably what blew out the ship's engines, too, because I also told him the code to get out of the brig. He's got quite a temper."

"Where is he now?" the human snapped. The mech gave a sound similar to a snort.

"Like I have any idea. Somewhere on Earth's probably a safe bet."

He took a corner on two wheels and skidded to a stop just in time to avoid wrapping himself around a tree. Megatron kicked his door open and slid out. The 'con said nothing; he merely waited until the human was far enough away and slammed his door shut. Then he merged into traffic, turning again at the road ahead and vanishing.

Megatron retreated until he was standing in the doorway of the building behind the tree. After a few moments Sunstreaker came flying around the corner. He kept going, not stopping to investigate Megatron or turning where Swindle had. After a moment the human sighed and started walking down the street. Hopefully Barricade would have as easy a time ridding himself of the other twin and would come pick him up.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He glanced back and found that he was being followed by a tall human in a suit. Something about him seemed familiar, which irritated him.

"Go away," Megatron ordered as he turned back. "I don't have time to deal with you fleshlings."

"Oh, but I think you do," the man answered. Something stung the back of his neck and Megatron spun around, preparing to beat the human until it stopped following him, except something was wrong. He blinked and frowned at the ground, which was spinning around in an odd manner. After a moment it started lurching from side to side and he could no longer keep his balance. He dropped, somehow avoiding landing on his face, and closed his eyes to stop the nauseating dizziness.

"Okay, boys, grab him and let's go."

"Are you sure we're allowed to do this, sir?"

"The Autobots won't tell us anything, so we'll just have to figure it out for ourselves."

"Oof, he's heavy." Something tugged at his arms, trying to pull him up. "Jesus Christ. Someone get over here and help!"

Megatron tried to open his eyes again and found he couldn't. A warm sort of darkness stole over him and the world around him faded into nothingness.

His last thought was that at least Starscream hadn't found him.

--

"This is not good," Swindle muttered to himself. He was on the highway, going eighty and steadily losing ground to the yellow Lamborghini behind him. "This is not good, this is not good, this is very not good."

-_Rumble!-_

_-We're busy, Swindle.-_

_-I'm being chased by an Autobot, half-stack, which kinda beats your 'busy'. Does the 'stealth is no longer necessary' rule still stand?-_

_-Do whatever you want! That's all anyone's been doing anyways.-_

If he only knew.

Swindle ducked over to the far left lane. He held himself steady for a moment, waiting until Sunstreaker was too close for comfort. Then he swung himself around, using his bumper as a battering ram. The metal railing didn't stand a chance; it peeled back and away as he slid through and into oncoming traffic. He managed to swing around until he was going the proper direction. Sunstreaker, as he'd hoped, had been too close and going too fast to make the turn.

The 'con slowed and merged into the traffic until he was next to an eighteen-wheeler, which made him feel less noticeable. After a moment he realized that traffic was slowing down, then stopping entirely. For a few moments he was confused. Then he remembered that someone had shot out two freeway bridges that morning, so naturally things were a little backed up.

And then a certain familiar Lamborghini pulled up on his other side.

Swindle felt his slow-boiling temper erupt. Snarling and snapping in rage, he cycled out the cannon and settled it into place. Sunstreaker revved his engine and backed up, putting as much distance between himself and the gun as possible, although Swindle got the impression that the move had less to do with not wanting to get shot himself and more to do with trying to keep the 'con from blasting everything around him.

"You know what's so amazing about humans?" the 'con asked. "No? They don't pay attention. They refuse to believe what is right in front of them. I mean, slagging Pit, I shot down two bridges this morning and they're saying it was inadequate materials or something. And you know what's great about being a Decepticon? It means I can do this."

And he transformed, swinging Motormaster's gun around so that it was braced on his left arm. He put one hand on the trailer of the truck next to him and casually pulled it over, balancing his weight against it as the gun started to power up. Judging from the weight, the trailer was empty, which would make the next part of his plan significantly easier.

"Let's see them ignore this," he drawled, pointing the gun towards the snarl of cars ahead of him.

It was a bad situation, but Sunstreaker had no choice. He transformed, lunging to the side as he did so. Swindle didn't shoot at him, however. Instead he sidestepped so he was standing behind the truck and gave it a swift kick. The trailer, not meant to stand up to such abuse, skidded right off the bed of the truck. Its far end swung around and, before the Autobot could catch up to what was happening, nailed Sunstreaker right in the chest. Another push and the trailer dropped on him, pinning him to the ground.

"Stay, boy," Swindle said to the 'bot. He turned and stepped over the embankment, heading back into the city.

He transformed just outside the city and meandered through a complicated maze of turns and roads, until he was fairly sure he'd lost even the surprisingly dedicated Sunstreaker. Of course, the fact that he was a big vehicle that was two shades shy of being neon yellow did nothing to help his attempts to blend in. Still, he did what he could with what he had. And it worked fairly well until he found himself stopped at a red light and suddenly noticed that Megatron's spark signal was rapidly approaching.

Now he was going to have to deal with that slagging human going off the handle about Starscream again. Only this time he wouldn't have the option of _accidentally_ running over the annoying little thing and blaming the Autobots, since the speed with which he moved implied Barricade had found him.

Several vehicles blew past him. None turned, or stopped, or otherwise gave any sign of recognizing him. And none of them were Los Angeles police cars. If he had to guess, he'd say Megatron was in the big black SUV. Swindle yanked himself over into the right-turn lane, bullying a smaller car out of the way, and fell into place behind the SUV. It definitely had Megatron in it. A quick scan also revealed four other, normal humans, and nothing Cybertronian.

"Oh, this is not good," he muttered to himself. "This is not good, this is-- this is _perfect_." He eased off the gas, letting another car get between him and the SUV. Honestly, he couldn't have asked for anything better. Megatron had gotten out under his own power and had walked away, knowing the dangers that might be present. And he had fallen to one of those dangers- his fellow humans. What Swindle had needed- to get his leader out of the way- had come true, and in a manner that couldn't even begin to be blamed on him. With a broad grin of anticipation, he contacted his fellow Idiot on Earth.

-_Barricade! We got a problem!-_

_-What?-_

_-Megatron's been nabbed by a bunch of humans. I can't get him back without doing something that might hurt him too.-_

_-What?! Where are you?-_

_-Uh, I'm at- oh slag. Red Twin alert. Gotta go.-_

_-Wait, Swindle--_

Swindle pulled into the far lane as Sideswipe turned onto the road ahead. He immediately began to drift backwards, slowly letting the SUV catch up. No doubt he'd finally noticed the odd signal and was now coming to check it out. So far only his scanner jammer was keeping him out of the Autobot's notice.

And then Sunstreaker slid out from behind the car to Swindle's right. In about three seconds the twins effectively herded him off the main road and onto a much smaller side street. Sideswipe gunned his engine and shot past him while Sunstreaker stopped in front of him.

"This just is not my day, is it?" Swindle asked himself. Then he gave a weak attempt at a laugh as the twins both pulled in a little closer. "Hey, guys. Good to see you both alive and, sadly, fighting fit."

"Hey, Swindle," Sideswipe greeted, and there was a dark note to his cheerful tone. "Wanna guess how many people you killed today?"

"Not particularly," the Decepticon answered honestly. He'd known the twins long enough, and had traded with them frequently enough, that he had a basic idea of their skills. Beating one of them might be possible, as they were both close-range fighters and Swindle carried an admirable arsenal of long-range weapons. But both, up close and mad? The only reason he hadn't shot himself yet was because there was still the off-chance of a minor miracle.

"Twelve." Sideswipe informed him. The 'con bit back his immediate reply, which involved something along the lines of 'a dime a dozen', in favor of silence. It seemed much less likely to get him slagged. After a moment he tried a different track.

"Well. Now you two have a problem."

"A problem?" Sunstreaker scoffed. "You? Don't insult us."

"Not me," Swindle answered. "Megatron."

"Slag it all," Sideswipe murmured. "So he _is_ the one turned human."

"Yeah, he- wait. What?" The 'con would have shaken his head, but he didn't have one in this form. "How'd you know that?"

There was a brief, guarded silence. Then Sunstreaker, ever the conversationalist, gave something vaguely resembling an answer.

"Because."

"Because what?" Now Swindle was starting to connect the dots. The twins, while brilliant warriors, were by no means geniuses. They couldn't have known the odd signal was Megatron unless someone either told them, which was doubtful, or…

"Jazz is back, huh?" he asked. Neither Autobot responded, although he would assume they were having their own conversation. "Well, he's gotta be. You knew what that signal meant, and he's the only Autobot to kick it recently- whoa!"

Sunstreaker loomed over him, having transformed in the time it took him to say two words, and pulled out a nasty-looking energon sword. The Decepticon backed up quickly, nearly ramming Sideswipe, stopping only when a mailbox post bent the wrong way and prevented further retreat. The yellow twin moved with him, each step less a step and more a predatory prowl.

"Okay, bad choice of words, point taken! Sorry!" Sunstreaker considered this apology and seemed on the verge of rejecting it. Fortunately fate smiled on him still.

"Aw, leave him alone," Sideswipe ordered suddenly. "He's no threat to anyone."

"Say wha- yes. No threat, not at all."

The twins had another one of their conversations. Then Sideswipe swerved around Swindle and turned back onto the main road. Sunstreaker paused long enough to make a few comments.

"You know what's so amazing about scanner jammers?" he asked. Swindle hesitated, not sure how to answer that. The Autobot continued. "They sometimes interfere with your self-scanners and make it hard for you to notice, oh, a leak in your main energon system."

"What?" Swindle shut off the jammer and was immediately swamped by a dozen different alarms and warnings. He ran a self-diagnostic and was not pleased with the response. While far from deadly, the energon leak would certainly take a while to repair and even longer to regain the lost energy. Sunstreaker patted him on the hood, like a human patting a dog, then walked away. He tossed one final parting shot over his shoulder.

"Stay, boy."


	13. Waiting

There are two reasons this is getting updated so late. I'm not making any excuses, just explaining. If you think I'm taking too long to update feel free to tell me so. I work surprisingly well under pressure.

The two reasons are as follows: one, I busted my foot up late last week and literally could not walk on it. In fact I couldn't put any weight on it at all. This wasn't a problem- it meant I got to stay home and do nothing for three days. Unfortunately my mother, to ensure I wouldn't turn into a computer-induced zombie, left my laptop upstairs. Sorry, folks, but I don't love y'all enough to crawl up three sets of stairs on my hands and knees. (for those of you concerned, it's almost completely healed now.)

The second reason is entirely my fault: I got writer's block. This chapter has very little action and I apparently went into overdrive trying to make it interesting. I added and took out parts, rewrote whole sections, and spent hours fiddling with individual sentences. I am far from pleased with what you see below, but I decided I needed to post it before I nitpicked it to death.

Also, the world of well-planned time flow takes another hit. Most of this chapter happened before the events of the previous chapter. It simply flowed better this way. What belongs where should be easy enough to figure out.

Disclaimer: I do not own. Sorry.

---

Starscream came out of recharge feeling like he was being smothered.

He started to check his GPS and paused, wondering if Soundwave would recognize his signature. After a moment he decided that the point was moot- the communications officer would know where he was due to the locator chip all Decepticons had. He vaguely remembered Swindle saying something about a jammer, which made visiting the merchant fairly high up on the list of things to do, but until then he might as well not worry about being traced. It wasn't as though Soundwave would be inclined to come get him anyways. Not with his ship blown half to the Pit.

Something was sitting on him.

The seeker came to this conclusion abruptly. He froze, trying to decide if he wanted to know what it was, then ran a scan. A moment later he checked his results against the internet and relaxed. Howler monkeys, he was told; native to the Amazon rain forest. Unfortunately this meant he'd missed his mark by an entire continent. He growled irritably, then shook himself.

"Get off," he ordered. The monkeys- a horde of smelly, filthy animals squatting on his wings and poking curiously at his cockpit- all gave odd screaming noises. None of them moved. Starscream snarled at them and shook harder. He didn't want to risk transforming and accidentally smearing a monkey all across his internals. One animal took a stick and walloped the jet right across the nosecone.

The seeker went still, unable to process the creature's actions. Not only were these little heathens daring to sit on him, they weren't even smart enough to know when to get off. Then one of the animals lifted its tail and started defecating on him.

"Eww! Get off get off get off GET OFF!" He didn't so much shake himself this time as he lunged into the air and rolled, scattering monkeys in every direction. When he was convinced they were all off he settled down, cycling his vents rapidly and scanning himself repeatedly. His auto-repair had fixed the structural damage caused by the crash. Most of it now was all cosmetic, dents and scratches with monkey feces thrown in for good measure.

The animals were sitting in trees around him, making good on their name and producing an unholy racket. Just as Starscream was considering transforming and shooting all of them, one monkey took a fruit and lobbed it at the seeker. It splattered against his left wing and an eerie silence descended immediately. Then, as if by cue, all the monkeys started grabbing anything nearby and hurling it at him. Starscream let out a shriek of fury as he was pelted by overripe fruit, sticks, rocks, and- naturally- more monkey crap. And they'd started howling again, which made it hard for his CPU to string two thoughts together without _dear Primus shut them up_ interrupting.

"All right!" he snapped. "All right, I'm leaving!" He fired up his engines and tried to edge himself out of the grove of trees, but the battering continued. After a moment he tired of this and simply blasted forward, plowing through trees and bushes. He managed to get angled above the canopy and pointed himself to the north.

Howler monkeys, the internet informed him, were direct cousins to the primates from which humans were thought to descend. So essentially Starscream had just been beaten by a gang of unevolved humans armed with fruit and their own excrement.

This did not bode well.

---

Jazz chewed on his lower lip as he watched the TV. He'd volunteered to keep an eye on the freeway bridge story as well as watch for anything new. It would be several hours before the twins got there, though, so he had a feeling it would be a while yet before something interesting happened.

The other two were helping Ratchet try to get something resembling security set up. The medic had plenty to say about his new job, most of which being unsuitable for small children to hear, and was making the humans nervous by constantly yelling "my name is Ratchet, not Red Alert!"

"Sp there are actual security cameras in about fifty places outside," Epps said conversationally. Jazz glanced back and saw him holding a walkie-talkie, which the medic was no doubt tuned in on. Sure enough, the little machine produced a short bark of static, then Ratchet's familiar voice came over the air.

"Fifty?" he echoed.

"It's a big building," Epps shrugged. "Plus they would've been dealing with thieves a lot. You'd be surprised how many warehouses get knocked off."

"Would I, now?" the medic asked blandly. The sergeant checked to make sure he wasn't transmitting before turning to Jazz.

"Who's Red Alert?"

"Autobot security director," the saboteur answered. "Kinda twitchy, but damn good at his job."

"What does 'kinda twitchy' mean?"

Jazz looked up, meeting the human's curious gaze and grinning. "Ravin' paranoid lunatic, if you must know. Most security 'bots are gonna be a little nutty, but Red takes th' whole dessert bar when it comes t' crazy."

"This whole army of yours is full of whack jobs and fruitcakes, isn't it?" Epps asked with a laugh. Jazz snorted and shrugged.

"Us Cybertronians, we got a couple advantages over humans," he explained. "We live a lot longer, for one. But this war… we're fightin' th' same mechs, day in an' out, an' sometimes it feels like we're just runnin' in place an' not gettin' anywhere. Go through that for a couple thousand years an' see how _you_ hold up."

Epps took a minute to process this, then asked softly, "So how long do you guys live anyways?"

"A very long time," Jazz answered morosely. "Sometimes it seems like too long."

There was nothing to say to that, so the sergeant returned to fumbling with the blueprints of the warehouse while the saboteur turned back to the TV.

"What's the count so far?" Epps asked after a moment. Jazz had long since put on mute and was watching the text scroll along the bottom. He'd also filched Sam's iPod and had been listening to whatever music the boy had on it while he watched. As such he barely heard the man behind him, but at the question he hit pause again.

"Twelve now," he said grimly. "Looks like that's it, too. Gotten most of th' rubble cleared away an' all of th' cars are out."

"Damn those Decepticons," the sergeant growled. "Why the hell would they do something like this anyways?"

"My guess is it's got somethin' to do with how Swindle an' Barricade were playin' cops an' robbers earlier," Jazz responded. "Though we'll prob'ly never really know. Th' thing about th' 'cons is, they do a lot of in-fightin', and we don't hear about it unless it gets real messy."

"Seems kinda stupid to me," the human muttered.

"Hey, Jazz?" The saboteur glanced back to see Mikaela leaning against the doorframe. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Ratchet says he wants to see you."

He glanced at Epps, then followed the girl into the security room. Ratchet was standing next to a long console of monitors. The medic saw Jazz and pointed angrily towards the machines.

"Fix it," he ordered. Jazz wandered over to the console and went around behind it, sliding between the table and the wall to find the main computer controlling the whole system.

"So why didn't you get this up an' runnin' sooner?" he asked mildly. Ratchet didn't answer, which didn't surprise him. Instead the medic merely folded his arms over his chest and scowled down at the saboteur.

"I don't think they were expecting Decepticons so soon," Mikaela offered. Jazz snorted as he reached behind the computer tower.

"Or maybe none of 'em grasped th' concept of th' plug," he drawled, holding the computer's power cord up. Epps started laughing as Jazz turned to show his find to Ratchet. "Gotta plug it in, guys. Don't work otherwise."

"You needed a high-tech saboteur to figure out that?" the sergeant asked.

"You shut up, and you plug it in."

An amused Jazz did as ordered and circled around to the front of the console to watch as the screens flickered to life. There were ten of them, and they began to slowly flit through five different camera views each. Jazz pulled a chair over and sat down.

"I'll see if I can set up th' system so you can hack it an' watch it whenever you- what was that?"

They all peered at the proper screen as Jazz began to type away. A moment later the single images were replaced by dozens as the monitors pulled up all fifty cameras at once. It took him a moment to find the proper one, but soon the saboteur had the image he wanted up. The picture was grainy and black-and-white, but it was clear enough to see a dark shape on the roof.

"Something dark," Mikaela murmured.

"And kinda small," Epps added. After a moment's pause, he explained himself. "Well, compared to the 'bots, I mean."

"Small an' dark," Jazz mused. He shot a meaningful glance towards Ratchet.

"He wouldn't," the medic said in disbelief.

"He would," the saboteur countered.

"Who wouldn't do what?" Epps sounded understandably bewildered. Jazz turned to face the sergeant.

"Ravage," he explained simply. "One of Soundwave's merry band of morons. Supposedly one of the Decepticons' best spies. Got any heavy artillery on you?"

"How heavy you talking?" Epps was scowling at the screen as he mentally ran tally on the weapons available.

"You remember Skorpinok?" Jazz asked mildly.

"Hell yeah."

"Ravage is a lot like him, but faster an' nastier."

"And smarter," Ratchet added.

"Wonderful." The sergeant turned to walk out of the room, pausing for only one more question. "How much smarter?"

The two Autobots exchanged glances as they both tried to evaluate Ravage's intelligence level. The felinoid was wickedly smart, but he had a tenacity that far outstripped anything else. His one-track processor often led him into situations that he would otherwise avoid. Their silence was probably far from comforting, and Epps walked out long before either could think of any easy way to explain. Ratchet glanced once more at the screen, then followed him.

"Why don't we wait for Prowl or someone to get back?" Mikaela asked. "We don't have to go get him ourselves, do we?"

"Yes an' no," Jazz admitted. "I mean, we can wait, but he'll be long gone 'fore anyone gets back. Th' problem is, once he figures out he's been caught, we don't know how he's gonna react. He might take off or he might not. If not, it's gonna get ugly."

"So you're not going to go get him?" she tried carefully. Jazz turned back to the monitors and shrugged.

"Ravage is small but nasty. No reason t' go pickin' fights with him."

"So even though he's a spy, and sitting on our roof, we're not doing anything about it?" Epps was back, hauling a large duffel bag with him.

"What's he gonna hear about up there?" the saboteur asked in amusement. "Th' freeway bridge collapse and Ratchet bellowin' about hatin' his job. Groundbreakin' news, that." He tilted his chair back and propped his feet up on a blank space on the table. "He's prob'ly here t' figure out what th' slaggin' Pit I am."

"Great." The man pulled a strange-looking gadget and placed it carefully on the table. "Just in case, I got these."

Jazz frowned in confusion as he picked up the fist-sized thing. It seemed odd, slightly familiar in design.

"It's a grenade, kind of," the sergeant explained. "It's actually Cybertronian, scaled down to fit human standards. Courtesy of Megatron."

"Ah," Jazz held it up and grinned. "I get it. Interference."

"Well, I don't get it," Mikaela said. Jazz handed her the grenade gently.

"Cut little toy, this thing. This part here latches onto anythin' metal, an' when it goes off, not only does it blow up, but it sends out a high-frequency signal that scrambles a mech's systems for a few minutes." He glanced at Epps. "Got it off Megs?"

"Megs?" the sergeant echoed, sounding utterly dumbfounded. "You call him _Megs_?!"

"Makes him seem less intimidating. You got it off him?"

"Yeah… I think." Epps eyed the saboteur oddly. "At least, that's what Simmons said."

"You talk to Simmons?" Now it was Mikaela's turn to interrupt. She stared at the sergeant in disgust. The man grunted and shrugged.

"He's not half bad," he admitted grudgingly. "Once you get used to him."

"Kind of like ringworm," the girl said coldly. Jazz smiled at the sergeant's sullenness. He didn't want to admit to liking Simmons, but that the man was providing them with anti-Decepticon weapons had clearly won over the military boys.

"Yeah, I guess. So what were you saying about Megatron, Jazz?" Epps shifted to face the saboteur, obviously trying to change the subject. Jazz humored him and gestured towards the grenade.

"That's Soundwave's thing," he said. "Frequencies, I mean. There's a reason he's called Soundwave, ya know. He uses ultra-harmonized sound waves to do all sorts of nasty stuff."

"Like what?" Argument forgotten- at least for now- the two humans regarded the Autobot warily. Jazz shrugged helplessly.

"Don't know," he responded blandly. "Most of th' mechs he uses those tricks on, don't live to tell th' tale. Those who do, aren't much in th' mood for talkin'."

"I'm gonna assume that that's a nice way of saying 'tortured to insanity'," Epps translated. Jazz nodded once. "That's nice. Why doesn't anyone tell us these things _before_ the freaky scary evil-bots show up?"

"You wanna hear 'bout Shockwave?" Jazz challenged. "Charmin' guy, really, 'cept he's a scientist at spark an' he's got a hard time understandin' th' whole idea of experimentation on livin' subjects bein' a bad thing. Or maybe Blitzwing; now there's someone you definitely do not want to run into, ever. Here's one- Sixshot. Name says it all. Takes a gestalt to bring him down. Th' fact is, there's a lot of scary 'cons out there. You try t' count 'em all, you're gonna be sittin' there a while."

"Wow." Epps considered this for a moment. "So is there any good news in this lecture, or are you trying to tell us that it's basically hopeless?"

"If it were hopeless we wouldn't've lasted as long as we have," Jazz pointed out lightly. "For every 'con who redefines th' word 'evil', there's a 'bot who's basically his opposite. We're not perfectly matched, but we're close enough. No, th' point of that lecture was to tell you that we've been fightin' a long time. Only th' toughest like Soundwave, or th' meanest like Blitzwing, or th' luckiest an' most skilled like Swindle are still around." He leaned back a little farther and dragged a hand through his hair. "Swindle's th' one I'm really worried about."

"Why? Isn't he just some mid-level warrior or something?" Mikaela frowned.

"Sure, an' if that were all he was I'd be cool with it. Problem is, he's not loyal like Soundwave, an' he's smarter an' a lot less predictable than Astrotrain. Who knows what's goin' through his processor right now?"

"Great. So what do we do now?" Epps frowned down at the grenade on the table. Jazz picked it up and turned it over in his hand, thinking about the first time he'd seen Soundwave in action. The 'con had swept through the battlefield like a bad line of code corrupting a program, utterly decimating everything in his path. Back then they hadn't known what he could do, or how to handle him. Now, though…

"We do nothin'," he said simply. "You two wait for Prime t' come back an' I'll see if I can give our little eavesdropper a welcomin' gift."

"Why bother?" Epps muttered, and Jazz smiled darkly.

"Ravage is basically a part of Soundwave walkin' around separate from th' rest. If I can slip him somethin'…"

"… Soundwave will be affected?" Mikaela tried.

"By now Barricade's told him I'm dead. I'm th' only one here who's a decent match for him hacker-wise. I scramble Ravage's circuits with a few lines of code an' Soundwave won't know what hit him."

The two humans considered this. Jazz grinned at them.

"Good thing, folks. Very good thing."

"Great," Epps responded sourly. "So now we wait, huh? This is gonna be boring."

Mikaela paused, then abruptly turned to face the sergeant. "What did you mean, Simmons isn't half bad? Do you know what he did to Bumblebee?"

"Then again, maybe not," the man added. Jazz chuckled, then turned back to the computer screen. He had a few viruses to cook up.

---

"No, Mom, I did _not_ get arrested again."

Sam folded his arms on the table in front of him and dropped his forehead onto them. There was a serious drawback to having a police escort which neither he nor Prowl had though about. After that stunt where Bumblebee had 'stolen' himself, Sam had ended up getting off scot-free with the cops. Unfortunately Judy hadn't forgotten that little incident and when a cop car had pulled into their driveway and unloaded her son, she'd just about hit the roof. Sam was only grateful that she wasn't going after Prowl's holoform, which could only venture a limited distance from the Autobot and lacked a certain solidity.

"Are you sure?" she asked, peering through the curtains. The cruiser was still just sitting there. "If you were, Sam, you could tell me. It's nothing to be ashamed about; everyone has a few scrapes with the police."

"No, Mom," he said loudly. "This has nothing to do with the police. That's not even a real cop car, okay?"

"Not a real- Samuel James Witwicky, did you steal that car?!"

"Mom!" Sam lifted his head and stared at her. "How does 'not a real cop car' sound like 'stolen car'?"

"I don't know, it just… you were gone so long…" She waved her hands through the air and collapsed into a nearby chair. Sam leaned over and peered into the kitchen suspiciously. His mother only acted like this when she'd gotten into the wine.

"Where's Dad?" he tried. Maybe his father would be a little more open to actual conversation.

"He's at the firehouse, doing his Neighborhood Watch thing."

"Right," the boy muttered to himself. He sat up straight and looked at his mother, trying to be firm. After all, he knew what was going on here and what the stakes were. She didn't. "Okay, Mom, I think you should know something. That cop car? It isn't a real car at all. It's actually an alien robot that transforms into a car. And he's not the only one- in fact, there's a whole bunch of them, and they're probably going to start fighting soon."

Judy stared at her son for several long moments. Then she shook her head and sighed. "Oh Sam. This is what you get from working too hard and not getting enough sleep."

"I'm serious, Mom! You know that thing with the freeway bridges in Ohio? One of those guys did that. He shot out the bridge."

"Sam, that is a serious matter. Don't make fun of it."

"I'm not," he ground out, trying to refrain from pulling out handfuls of his hair. "I'm telling the- here. Come out here and talk to him."

"The police officer?" she asked as he herded her out. "Does this have something to do with that Agent Simmons?"

"No, Mom," Sam answered tiredly. Prowl's holoform watched them come down the path towards him.

"Excuse me, sir," Judy began, stepping forward and reaching out before Sam could stop her. "My son has been working on a school project and it seems to have- to have---"

Sam folded his arms across his chest and watched as his mother wave her hand through the hologram, staring at the rippling effect it caused. The holoform disappeared, replaced by sketchy blue lines that looked a lot like the Matrix code, only to reappear after her hand had passed through. Judy lifted her dumbfounded gaze to stare at the police car. The holoform rippled once more, then vanished entirely.

"So… that Simmons bastard was telling the truth?" she asked distractedly. Her son shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, he was," he admitted. "Or, at least, as much of it as he knew."

"So your car… the new Camaro… it's actually a robot?"

"The old one was too," Sam explained. "The same robot, that is. But Mikaela made fun of him so he changed to something newer."

Prowl, meanwhile, did the best thing he could during this conversation: he sat still and said nothing. He was probably waiting for the proper moment to intervene.

"So this," and Judy didn't quite tap the tactician's hood, "is actually a robot?"

"Yes." Sam nodded, grateful that his mother seemed to be getting it.

"And it's only one of many?"

"He, Mom, not it. And there's about twelve more of them that I know of."

"And they're getting ready to start a war on our planet?"

"Technically they'd be restarting it. But anyways, the evil guys- the Decepticons? I sort of destroyed their leader, so they might be looking for revenge. I was kind of hoping you'd come back to base with us so the Autobots can protect you."

Judy appeared to have not heard her child. She was nodding and mumbling to herself as she turned and sort of half-stumbled a few steps away. Seeing as she was paying no attention to the other two, Prowl felt safe to offer his opinion.

"It might have been wiser to avoid mentioning Megatron and the Decepticons until after we were already at the base," he said softly.

"I thought it would scare her into coming with," the boy admitted.

"I have found that such maneuvers rarely work out as well as planned."

"Oh my god, is it _talking_?!" Judy stared at the 'bot, backing away rapidly. Sam followed her, holding out his hands as though to catch her if she tried to bolt.

"Yeah, Mom. He talks. But it's okay; he's one of the good guys. Mom!"

But Judy was gone. She darted up the path and ran back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. Sam shot the tactician an apologetic glance before following her. He found her locked in the bathroom, baseball bat in one hand and a suspiciously empty bottle of wine in the other.

"Taking lessons from Dad now?" he asked.

"Call your father and tell him to get home, now. We're moving!"

After about twenty minutes of trying to coax her out, Sam gave up. He headed back downstairs and out to the driveway.

"It didn't go well, I take it." Prowl stated. The teen groaned as he dropped into the passenger's seat- for some reason it just felt wrong sitting in the driver's seat of a police car, even if he wasn't driving and the police car wasn't a car.

"Might wanna tell Ironhide to get comfortable," he replied, glancing towards the black pickup in question.

"I already did."

"Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence." The teen stared out the window. "Maybe we could wait for my dad. He can talk to her better when she's in one of these moods."

"I'm afraid that is not a viable option. Several minutes ago I received a transmission from Ratchet. It appears we have a spy back at base."

"A spy?" Sam echoed.

"One of Soundwave's symbiotes. Ravage. I would prefer he not remain so close to us, so we are going to return to base. It should scare him off."

"And my parents?"

"Ironhide will keep them safe. Nothing will happen to them, Sam."

Sam nodded and watched his house as they drove away. He trusted Ironhide, sure. But he would still worry, which made it one more concern on top of the seventy-two he already had.

"Why did those 'cons have to show up?" he murmured, not even aware he'd spoken out loud until Prowl responded.

"We are sorry that we have brought our war to this world," he said quietly. "But if it wasn't here, it would be elsewhere. Such is the nature of our race."

He left Sam to chew that over in silence as they drove back to base. Finally the teen decided that this was honestly not too bad. Sure, the 'cons couldn't have picked a worst time to show up, but there were benefits to this madness. For starters, his father would no longer be demanding he take classes in basic car repair.

"I'm a horrible son," he realized abruptly.

"Perhaps," Prowl allowed. "I wouldn't know."

As far as support went, it wasn't much. Sam leaned back in his seat and sighed. They had a war to fight, there was no time for family discussions.

"Sometimes," he said, half to himself, "I miss how simple life used to be."

Prowl cycled his vents, a sound very much like a human sigh.

"So do I."

---

"Have you ever walked into the middle of a conversation and just known you've missed something?"

"Just so you know, you are not funny. Not remotely."

"Because they're all laughing and you're just sitting there?"

"If there's a point to this pitiful analogy, could you kindly get to it? It would be a shame if you had something meaningful to say and I killed you before you could say it."

"This is kind of like that," Dead End finished. He was in one of his rare good moods, which correlated conversely with the dark fury Swindle was experiencing. "Especially since last I talked to you, you were with Barricade and doing nothing, and now you're leaking and alone."

"By the way, I really hate you."

"Do you want my help or not?" The former Stunticon wasn't too concerned by Swindle's snappiness. The merchant was never the most graceful loser.

"Your help, sure. However, standing there and analyzing the situation for five minutes doesn't qualify as _help_. I would call it 'very slagging annoying'."

"I just find it very interesting that you backed over a mailbox and ripped a hole in your main energon line and the twins noticed it before you."

"Thank you, Captain In-A-Nutshell. I know my life sucks. Either help me or get lost."

Dead End leaned over and tapped one finger on the hood of the Hummer, just between the headlights. Swindle literally growled in response.

"I have only so many energon rations," the darker mech warned.

"I have a very big gun."

"Yes, but your auto-repair should have channeled energy away from your extraneous weapons and into more vital systems. So the very big gun is useless."

"… I liked you better when you were depressed."

"Oh, we still are doomed," Dead End answered calmly. Technically he knew he shouldn't be harassing Swindle in such a manner, but he couldn't help it. The one mech who was always collected and in-control was sitting helpless on a side street, his survival hinged upon the mercy of one of his fellow Decepticons. He'd been there for the better part of three hours, according to him, and he was quite thoroughly unamused by the whole thing. However, Swindle also should have known to not get irritated at the one mech who could help him.

Swindle was quietly muttering unkind things. Dead End stepped back and pulled out one of his emergency rations.

"This is only because you helped restore my force field," he said warningly.

"Duly noted," came the sour reply. Being dependent on someone else obviously didn't sit well. Dead End ignored this display of attitude and carefully siphoned the energon into Swindle's main line. After a moment the Hummer's engine roared to life and Dead End dropped hastily into car form.

"So what happened, exactly?"

"There are a good many answers to that question," Swindle responded blandly. "Suffice to say the twins showed up, which is never a good thing."

"Then…?"

"Then I… slagging Pit, this is complicated. How much of the story do you know?"

"Starscream told me that Megatron is human. Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yes. Anyways, I may have, ahh, _misplaced_ him."

"You misplaced Megatron?" Dead End considered that thoughtfully. "Is that even possible?"

"Clearly it is. I had to transform to handle one of the twins, so I don't know where he went."

Somehow Dead End doubted he was getting the whole story. He also knew nothing he could say or do would pry the truth out of Swindle, so there was no real point in trying.

"And the mailbox?"

"Let's assume you don't need to hear that story and work from there."

In other words, he was embarrassed by the whole thing. Not that Dead End blamed him. When he'd first sensed the Decepticon alarm signal, he'd simply assumed it was Barricade. Swindle had been a total shock.

"So now what?" Dead End asked. "Isn't there some way to track down Megatron?"

"Yes, there is. Tell you what- you find Barricade and Frenzy the Wonder-Spaz and I'll look for Megatron."

"Because you'll conveniently forget what you're supposed to be doing and take off. You've been looking for a way out, and this is a perfect opportunity." Dead End scoffed. Swindle gave a soft hum. Then a cannon cycled out of his left side and pointed straight at the former Stunticon.

"Let me rephrase that. I don't feel like being a team player anymore. If you don't feel like being a crater in the ground I suggest you leave."

"See, when you put it that way…" Dead End hastily backed away, then paused. "Hey, that gun-"

"Look familiar? Your old boss wasn't using it anymore, so I helped myself."

"Right. Well, it was nice talking to you."

"Uh huh."

The two 'cons both paused, then simultaneously pulled away from each other. Dead End saw Swindle tuck the cannon away and turn onto the main road. He waited until he was sure the other mech was long gone before tracing Barricade's signal and starting after him.

This planet did funny things to mechs, he thought wryly. He didn't want to spend too much time here. All the organic matter seemed to corrupt even the healthiest of CPUs. Not that it mattered much, since he'd probably already been here long enough for permanent damage.

Still considering this new way of shut down, he pulled onto the road and turned the opposite way as Swindle did. He had a scout and a warlord-turned-human to find.

---

The world seemed… fuzzy. Yes, fuzzy was a good word for it. Fuzzy was something he had never experienced before now; he'd always been careful to stay in top shape. One little slip and treacherous slaggers like Starscream would be all over him.

Oddly enough, he felt as though he were floating, as though his mind had simply abandoned his stupid organic body and drifted free. At first he didn't like it- he couldn't do anything, couldn't feel anything. Then he'd gotten used to it, and was now almost fond of the sensation. In fact, this whole experience could probably be considered one of the most relaxing times of his life, except some idiot fleshlings kept talking.

"What if they come looking for him?"

"One human in six billion? It'd take decades to find him. We lost all the cars following us. We're fine."

"Maybe he has a tracking device or something."

"Are you volunteering to do a strip search?"

"No, sir! I was just-"

"Then shut up and quit complaining."

Megatron smiled dreamily at the words. There was a way for his Decepticons to find him, and no amount of searching would reveal it to these creatures.

"What are we going to do with him?" a new voice asked.

"Nothing until the drugs wear off."

"Did you have to double-dose him?" Whiny was back again. He reminded Megatron of Starscream. Megatron decided that he didn't like him.

"He almost broke my neck when the first dose wore off too soon," the boss shot back.

The third man, the quiet one, asked one final question. "So when are we going to tell Agent Simmons about this?"

"We're not. Not until we have something real. He's been spending too much time around those Mission City people. He's actually starting to _like_ those machines."

"I'm sure he wouldn't approve of this," Whiny muttered.

"I'm sure he would. Remember the Witwicky boy? Simmons won't care about the means as long as they're justified by the ends."

Megatron tuned the humans back out, trying to keep his mind focused. He remembered, he thought, that Swindle had done something very bad, something to be alarmed about. Exactly what the mech had done kept slipping away. Finally he gave up and returned to enjoying the floating feel. He would have plenty of time to worry after he came down from this.

So Megatron remained, blissfully isolated from the world around him, and unaware that the distance between himself and his only allies was slowly but steadily growing.


	14. Setbacks

Hello there, people! It has occurred to me that I use these author's notes as some sort of ranting board and I tend to be pretty depressing when writing here, so today I shall be happy. So even though my foot hurts, my kitten stole my dinner, and my mother's birthday is Sunday and I have nothing to give her and no money to buy something, I shall be happy. Happy, dammit!

On a saner note, I am pleased about better timing with my update this time. I am by no means a punctual person, but I've been trying to keep some form of scheduling in regards to this fic. To those reading my Simmons-centric fic, I am truly sorry. As soon as inspiration strikes I shall post the next chapter. Those are much easier to write anyways, being shorter and with no real plot to them.

As an interesting bit of trivia, I have a small problem with my brain moving faster than my hands- or my computer, or the speed of light. As such I will occasionally and randomly type out a scene for a future chapter and leaveit to sit on my desktop until that chapter arrives. I did this with Astrotrain's encounter with Sideswipe, I did this with Swindle's shooting down the freeway bridge, and I did it with Swindle meeting Megatron. I also did it for one part in this chapter. Twenty points to whomever figures out which part it is.

This one jumps around a bit so try to keep up m'kay?

Disclaimer: If I owned TF, I would be rich. Which I'm not. Obviously.

---

"This day started out so badly, too," Jazz muttered. He was hunched over the security computer, following the painstaking procedure of perfectly balancing the lines of code. One little misstep and Ravage's firewalls would keep him safe. It was like a puzzle- trying to fit all the pieces together just so- and he had always enjoyed the challenge.

Of course, saying that implied that the day was actually improving. This wasn't entirely true. It was now late evening and a disgruntled set of twins had checked in less than an hour ago. Swindle and Barricade had seemed to have been waiting for something, or so Sideswipe said. This didn't stop them from splitting when the twins had shown up. After a brief game of hide-and-seek Swindle had transformed on a busy highway and dropped a truck trailer on Sunstreaker. The appropriate people had been called and Simmons was now on damage control. As soon as he came back to California he was probably going to park his scrawny ass in the middle of their base and not leave until they told him everything. Fortunately it would be a while before he could leave Ohio, so the Autobots had time to figure out what they were going to tell him.

Barricade had proven better at blending in and Sideswipe had lost him immediately. The twins had regrouped to gang up on Swindle, who backed over a mailbox and punched a hole in his main energon line. Naturally the twins had neglected to tell him this until he'd lost a sufficient amount of energon to keep him from doing anything.

The troubling part was that he'd found some way to jam his signals. All mechscould block most of their various signals, making them virtually invisible outside of a certain range. That range varied depending on the mech's role. As a saboteur-sometimes-spy, Jazz's range had been next to nothing. A scout likeBumblebee had about as small a range. Warriors like the twins, to whom stealthwas a foreign concept, almost didn't bother with any sort of shielding. They preferred to announce their presence; sheer intimidation was one of their greatest weapons.

Technically speaking a mid-level warrior like Swindle would also only have mediocre jamming abilities. In fact, as a former gestalt member he should have even less than that- the higher the jamming ability, the more interference the team faced when linking up. And jamming devices had an annoying tendency to block out most forms of communication. So either Swindle had found some way around the limitations of such devices- doubtful- or he'd waited until someone else did so and got his hands on a few- far more likely.

To be honest, the twins should havedestroyed Swindle when given the chance. Jazz understood why they hadn't- he was unpredictable and far too clever, but he was also useful and not particularly loyal. If needed, he could be bought or traded with. If the Autobots could find something he wanted, they might get a few jamming devices of their own.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Jazz glanced back and saw Mikaela. She'd been pacing the base for hours now- Prowl's wait order was clearly starting to chafe.

"Just thinkin' 'bout how we might get Swindle to hand over some of his new toys," he answered.

"What, the jammers?" She came over and hitched her hip onto the corner of the table. "Maybe the twins should have asked for one in exchange for not killing him."

"Wouldn't've worked." Jazz began working on the next line, sketching it out in his mind before putting it in.

"Why not?"

"Believe it or not, there are rules ya gotta play by. You don't follow th' rules, Swindle gets mad, an' that's it. You don't see him again, ever."

"Rules?" Mikaela scoffed. "Please. We're talking about the same guy, right? The one who blew out the freeway bridge?"

"Yup. Hard t' believe, I know, but Swindle is so good at what he does that he can expect t' lay down rules an' have 'em followed. Once upon a time he just about owned th' black market. Now it's different, 'cause we're scattered everywhere, but once, if you pissed him off, life got a whole hell of a lot harder than necessary. Th' mech has connections everywhere."

"Even in the Autobots?" She frowned as Jazz nodded. "Wasn't he a Decepticon?"

"When it amuses him t' play-act it, sure. Other'n that he has no real loyalty. In fact, he's a 'con because Megatrondidn't like how rich th' black marketers were gettin', an' he decided he wanted a chunk of it. So he found Swindle, told him join th' 'cons or die, and got himself a genuine merchant. Did him absolutely no good, but he got one." Jazz rested his chin on his palm and smiled at the memories. "Matter of fact, Swindle an' his antics kept th' Combaticons in th' red most of th' time. He'd use Decepticon resources t' fund one of his… adventures, then pocket th' spoils himself."

"Wasn't he worried about getting caught?" Mikaela asked.

"Oh, sure. Actually happened fairly often- his boss Onslaught would notice th' difference in th' numbers, an' he'd go beat th' slag out of Swindle, assumin' he could find him. Then he'd clear out one of Swindle's accounts an' redirect it towards th' team's. What this taught Swindle was to be hard t' find an' keep multiple accounts under multiple names with nothin' in 'em."

Mikaela smiled at that, then nodded to the computer. "How's that going?"

"Ehh, decent." He scrolled up a little, studying his work. "Sam's still sulkin' 'bout his parents, I take it."

"He's worried about them," Mikaela said, her tone a warning. "He's got the right."

"Funny." Jazz cast her a quick sidelong look. "I don't see you workin' up a sweat over your folks."

Mikaela opened her mouth, then shut it. A moment later she tried again. "My family's different," she said stiffly.

"Well, the twins checked in again," Epps announced as he strolled into the room. "Decided they didn't want to leave Cincinnati and pretended to haveinterference on the line when Prowl tried to tell them to get back here. Are they always like that?"

"Like teenagers," Jazz agreed cheerfully. "They like to do their own thing, but if you yell at 'em a couple dozen times they'll listen. They'll whine an' complain an' call you names, of course, but they'll do as they're told."

"So why are they staying in Ohio anyways?" Mikaela added curiously. Epps shrugged.

"According to Prowl, they said they sensed something weird and were going to check it out." He shot a glance at Jazz. "Something about the way they were talking leads me to believe that the 'something weird' might have had a strong resemblance to you."

"They found Megatron," the saboteur muttered. He stared hard at the screen, listening to the silence around him. They all knew, but weren't willing to admit, that it would be best if the twins were to kill Megatron now, before he could recover his true form. The silence was awkward, and Epps hastily interrupted it.

"You've still got Sam's ipod?" he asked in amusement.

"Aren't you getting tired of hearing the same songs over and over?" Mikaela put in. "His playlisthas only like fifty songs on it."

Jazz cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Had," he corrected guiltily.

"Had," the sergeant echoed. "Meaning...?"

"Meanin' I might have, ya know, added to it."

Mikaela held out her hand. Feeling like a child caught stealing cookies, Jazz handed the little machine over. The teen scanned her way through the list, then abruptly stopped.

"Jazz!" she barked, waving the iPod at him. "What did you do to this?"

"I fixed it," he said defensively. Epps frowned at them, and Mikaela explained.

"It's a Shuffle," she said. "It's got two gigs of memory. Jazz has five gigs of music on it." She turned on the saboteur irritably. "So all this time you've been sitting here, you'vebeen messing with the iPod memory capacity and doing nothing about Ravage?"

"No!" the scandalized Autobot barked. "Not at all. Th' iPod took... ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?"

"You really like music, huh?" Epps took the iPod and studied it. Jazz shrugged helplessly.

"Not much music where I come from. 'Fore th' war, sure, but after it started, no one had time for anythin' so non-destructive. I was always considered somethin' of a freak 'cause I loved music. Comin' here, an' seein' how much music was a part of your culture..." He sighed and shook his head. There was no way to explain the joy he'd felt when he'd first tapped into the radio waves flowing around the planet and found himself submerged in an ocean of sound.

"It's all right," Mikaela said after a moment. She handed the iPod back. "So, just out of curiousity, how did you pay for all those?"

Jazz froze.

"Pay?" he echoed after almost a full minute of nothing. The teen groaned and turned away.

"Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Hey!" Sam came flying into the room, barely able to stop in time to avoid running full-tilt into the table. "Hey hey hey! Prime just called!"

Jazz shoved his chair back and lunged to his feet. Sam gestured hurriedly for them to follow him as he sprinted back into the hallway.

Prowl turned to regard them as they ran into the room. Jazz slid to a stop, momentarily considering but ultimately discarding the idea of climbing straight up the tactician's leg. Instead he bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.

"Prime contacted you? Is he close? What'd he want?"

"Patience, Jazz," came the frustratingly calm response, and the saboteur caught himself just before he started cussing at his friend. After a moment he answered.

"Well, fine. You live a few days as human an' see how patient you are when your ticket out is takin' his own sweet time." He ignored the disapproving frown and took a few steps closer. "Is he still talkin' to you? Can I talk to him?"

"No. He didn't contact me; he sent a message through internal lines. He knows about Soundwave, and he says he should be back before midnight."

Jazz cheered and spun around. Seeing Sam closest, the saboteur tackled the teen, practically knocking him off his feet.

"What happened to three days?" Epps asked as he carefully put a healthy distance between himself and the exuberant Autobot.

"Who cares? He's comin' back tonight, that's all that matters!"

"Possibly Soundwave's presence encouraged him to hurry." As he was talking Prowl watched his fellow Autobot officer dance gleefully. "Jazz. Jazz!"

The saboteur stopped moving and took a moment to steady his breathing before turning back to face Prowl.

"I don't want Ravage here when Prime arrives," the tactician said slowly. Jazz grinned and nodded.

"No problem. I'll go take care of 'im now." Sending thanks to whichever deity happened to be listening, Jazz turned and ran back to the computer.

Poor Ravage, he thought. Then he laughed. Poor Ravage indeed. His conversation with Mikaela had given him an idea. He began to rework the code while directing the internet browser to a music download site.

This was going to be fun.

---

"—ke up! C'mon, get up!"

Megatron awoke suddenly but didn't open his eyes. He was hurt, he realized, although he couldn't locate any one particular pain. It was more of an all-over ache. He was also extremely uncomfortable, lying on something that only pretended to havecushioning and with his head tilted at an odd angle and jammed against something hard.

"Damn, he's _still_ out of it. Exactly how much did you give him, anyways?"

"I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

"That's wonderful. You could have killed him."

"He tried to kill us!"

"Enough, children. He's not hurting anyone and he's perfectly healthy. Leave him be."

Slowly he opened one eye, trying to see where he was. He found himself looking at the back of a row of seats in a car. After moment he thought he remembered how he got here- Swindle let him out and drove off, and something had stung his neck... A man was sitting in the seat in front of him. Slowly he brought his hands up, remembering his first encounter with these cursed humans after becoming one. He was strong for a human, he knew. This fool would regret turning his back on Megatron.

The Decepticon lunged upright, bringing up his hands in preparation-

And yanked to a stop, painfully and suddenly.

"Holy shit!" The man in front of him jerked forward, twisting in his seat to stare with wide eyes at him. The other two men, even the one driving, both turned to watch as well. Megatron lifted his hands carefully and studied the metal bands around each wrist. A feeble-looking chain connected them to one another, and another chain connected to a small metal circle attached to the car floor. He nudged it with a toe and frowned at its firmness.

"Feel better?" someone asked. He snapped his gaze up and stared at the man sitting in the passenger's seat. It was that one who'd first drugged him. Megatron glared at him, torn between his own humilation and planning the human's slow and painful death.

"Friendly little thing, aren't you?" the boss laughed merrily. "So sorry about the cuffs, but we decided not to take any chances. You've made it plenty clear that you would turn me inside out if given a chance."

"No," Megatron said slowly. "I wouldn't. Your death would be much slower than that."

The man laughed again, but the other two both looked nervous. The one sitting just in front of Megatron spoke first. "Uhh... boss? I don't think he was kidding."

"Oh yeah, like I'm worried. He's not going anywhere and if he gets too rambunctious, we have this." The boss held up a small thing, a clear tube with a milky fluid in it, and Megatron recognized it as the thing that the human had jabbed into him twice. Drugs, then. He watched the man wave it around for a moment. "See? Instant respect."

Megatron snorted and turned his gaze down to his restraints. He curled both hands into fists and pulled, trying to snap the chain connecting his wrists. After a few moments his hands began to shake with the effort and he had to stop. The chain showed no sign of weakening. He scowled at that, then reached down and seized the chain near the floor and pulled up. Again, it showed no sign of budging.

"Done?" the infuriating man asked him when he sat back up in irate defeat. "You're not gonna break those, so don't even bother trying."

The 'con set his shoulders and sneered. He would not be defeated by mere humans. Not even if he was one. He twisted his hands, preparing to repeat his previous attempt, then paused. The cuff was loose- not the chain, but the cuff itself. Not built to stand up to as much stress as the chain, it had loosened drastically. Another two notches and he would be able to slide his hands out with ease.

Megatron gathered his strength and began to pull again. If he didn't keep trying the humans would get suspicious. He kept his head down, watching as the cuffs slid a little more.

"You're really annoying," the driver informed him. For some reason, when the man spoke, Megatron mentally labelled him 'Starscream'.

"Shut up," he answered, automatically disliking the man for the comparison. Then he smiled darkly, for the cuffs had slid enough that he could easily slip his hands out. All he needed now was his chance.

He fought the chain for several minutes longer, then slumped into his seat and stared out the window. One of the men in the front muttered "finally," but he didn't care which one it was. They would soon be dead men anyways.

Megatron stared out the window. And he smiled.

---

Swindle cursed and dodged around a minivan, trying to hide his neon bulk behind the beige road-whale. The black SUV had swerved into the lane ahead of him, meaning he was no longer shielded by the mobile home he'd been pacing. After a moment the car swerved back into its lane, now about half a mile ahead, and Swindle eased out from behind the minivan and nudged his speed up.

He'd been tracking Megatron's snatchers for half an hour now. At first he'd worried that he wouldn't find them, but he'd clearly underestimated the strength of the spark signal Megatron gave off. This worried him- if he wasn't quick, Barricade or Dead End might find their dear leader first, and then Swindle would be in trouble. He'd pretty much made his allegiances clear when he'd let the humans take Megatron, if not sooner when he'd set Starscream free.

Idly he wondered how the seeker was doing. He'd heard nothing about or from him since he'd told Screamer about Megatron. So far the seeker was doing an absolutely abysmal job at being a distraction.

Swindle's plan, such as it was, included taking a trip down to California. Getting off the planet meant relying on someone with a ship, and since Soundwave's ship had large holes instead of engines, that left the Autobots. Naturally he needed something a little harder to say no to than just strolling up to their base and asking if he could borrow the Ark for a while, and threatening to blow up random cities until they agreed gave them the chance to set up traps. No, he needed something more immediate and more personal.

He had decided on 'borrowing' one of their pet humans.

First, he needed to do something about Megatron. He'd worked over one of his jamming devices and was fairly confident that it would mute even Megatron's obmoxiously bright signature. So now he was following the humans, waiting until they stopped and got out so he could slip the jammer in.

He hummed a cheerful tune to himself, then laughed for no reason. Things were going remarkably well. All he needed now was a little bit of luck, and luck had always been with him.

Life had never looked better.

---

Ravage was off-line when it started.

An alarm went off in his processor, immediately waking him up. He did a quick scan and found his firewalls had been broken and a virus was being uploaded into his CPU. He tried to scramble emergency defenses but the hacker was obviously well-prepared for such a thing. The virus started reacting before it was even finished loading, seeping into his defenses and corrupting the processes.

The hack ended as soon as it began, but the virus remained. It went after his automotive and transforming systems next, shutting them down with ease. Then it stilled and sat there, waiting for his response to its presence.

He considered contacting Soundwave, whose firewalls were far superior and would be able to handle this with no problem. The he decided against it, thinking about the ragging he'd get from Rumble. He was piecing his firewalls together again when an odd noise stopped him.

"_What's new pussycat? Whoooa! What's new pussycat? Whoooa! Pussycat pussycat I've got flowers and lots of hours to spend with you..."_

Ravage did a quick scan of the area around him, then stopped. _He_ was making that awful noise. And it was changing.

"_We are Siamese if you ple-ease... we are Siamese if you don't please..."_

The noise was coming from his own vocal processor. He shut it off and silence reigned for a moment. Then it clicked back on.

"_Everybody wants to be a cat, cause a cat's the only cat who knows where he's at..."_

_"I've got a little kitty cat who never chased a mouse... all she want to do all day is lounge around the house..."_

_"Black and orange stray cats sittin' on a fence... ain't got enough dough to pay the rent..."_

_-Soundwave!-_ Ravage yelped across their internal line. -_Soundwave, help!-_

-_Easy, kitty-cat, I'm... what is _that?!-

Of course it was Rumble who answered first. Ravage tried desperately to stop the noise but the virus wouldn't have it. Anytime he shut off his vocaliser, the virus snapped it back on-line.

-_I need Soundwave to help with a virus.-_

_-Virus, huh? Is that what it's called nowadays?_

_-Rumble!-_

_-Alright, I'm going.-_

Ravage tried to shut his audios off and was finally, thankfully, rewarded with silence. Then the virus flexed, and that horrible noise came back. Between it and Rumble's laughter, Ravage was sure his audios were going to burn out soon.

If he didn't kill himself first.

---

His moment came as the sun was just finished setting.

They stopped at a gas station near a large forest. All three humans got out and the non-whiny one reached through the back door, swinging the seat in front of him down.

"There's an outside bathroom over there," he gestured as he reached over with a key. Megatron turned his hands so the cuffs' looseness wasn't clearly visible and watched as the man unlocked the chain from the floor. "You're only allowed in if one of us is with you, preferrably not me. We're getting food so if you have some special allergy or something, now is the time to tell us."

He didn't even know what an allergy was, so he shook his head and carefully climbed out. From the way he was talking, they expected one of them to be able to handle him. A foolish mistake.

The bathroom was filthy, and Megatron sneered when the whiny one told him to hurry up and go. He may be human against his own will, but he had standards and this didn't begin to meet them. After a moment of staring, he took one step forward and stopped, hunching over to hide his actions as he slid his hands out of the cuffs.

"Hey," the human behind him stepped forward, reaching under his jacket. Presumably he was going for a weapon, and Megatron watched him in the mirror in hope. Instead the man produced a cell phone.

Two seconds later the cell phone hit the ground as the Decepticon swung around and grabbed the human by the throat. Last time he'd been careless and hadn't ensured the human's death. This time he intended to make no such error. He wrapped one hand around the man's neck and hefted him off the floor, letting him dangle.

The man clawed at his hand for a moment. Then he reached under his jacket again, fumbling with what looked like a human-sized gun. Megatron slammed his back against the wall and grabbed at the gun with his free hand, careful to keep it pointed away from himself. The man was starting to make odd strangling noises and his struggles were growing weaker.

Then something hit Megatron across the back of the head and sent him to his knees in sudden, blinding pain. The whiny man crawled away, gasping for air, and the boss stepped around the kneeling 'con to check on him. The man straightened and scowled.

"Try that again, we rent a sedan and you spend the rest of the trip in the trunk." He reached into a pocket and produced the cylinder containing the drugs.

"... un..." the whiny man rasped.

"What?"

"...g... gun!"

Megatron whipped the gun up, trying to figure out how to work it as he did so. Evidently he managed, for the thing bucked and produced a thunderclap of noise. The boss recoiled as the bullet hit the mirror and shattered it. He grabbed at the weapon, and Megatron let him have it. He lunged to his feet, slamming one elbow under the man's chin, then took off out the door and into the forest.

After several minutes of running Megatron stopped and leaned against a tree, rubbing at his sore wrists and simply letting himself breathe. He was free of the humans, although now he was on his own. The only thing he could do was find someone to drive him back to Cincinnati and hope Barricade found him before Swindle or- Primus forbid- Starscream did.

From the direction of the road came a soft and steady thumping noise, accompanied by the cracking of branches and rustling of leaves. At first Megatron thought it was some sort of organic predator. Then he heard the quiet humming of mechanical systems and the rushing noise of vents cycling.

He growled low in his throat and ducked into the forest, heading deeper. He needed to find someplace small, someplace a mech couldn't get into. There was no point in trying to hide, for even in this nighttime forest his spark guaranteed discovery.

The noises faded and Megatron felt pleased with himself for losing his pursuer, at least for a moment. He slowed to a fast walk and pushed through a curtain of branches-

And stepped into a clearing in which Swindle stood waiting.

"You went in a circle," the mech explained calmly as Megatron gaped at him.

"What do you want?" he demanded finally. Swindle shrugged.

"Nothing much," he replied. "Just for Soundwave and the others to never find you. So I adapted one of my jammers to mask your spark and left it in the car while your friends were looking for you. And now we're going to go back to the car and we're not going to escape again, all right?"

"Why don't you just kill me?" he asked irritably. Swindle's utter lack of loyalty was no surprise, nor were the extents he was going to to ensure Megatron's disappearance.

"Because this is so much more fun." The 'con took a step forward and Megatron groaned.

He ran, of course. He couldn't _not_ run. It did no good, as he'd known, and within ten minutes he was being tossed onto the road, dropping practically on top of the whiny human. He resigned himself to being chained, and to having one of the humans check his restraints every few minutes, and to the boss giving him a half-dose of the drugs, which kept him mellow but conscious. He looked around for the jamming device and couldn't care enough to be mad when he didn't find it.

He leaned against the window and watched the world flash by and half-heartedly hated every second of it.

As soon as he got his true body back, Swindle was a dead mech.

---

"Stupid... slagging... _monkeys_!"

Starscream tried to twist around and see if he'd gotten the last of the muck off his wings. The water dripping off his frame was clear, but he'd flown far enough that the filth on him had dried and caked itself to him.

The pond he'd found was a small one in a place called Colorado. He was surrounded by forests and mountains, which was why he'd chosen here to land and try to clean himself off. After a moment he gave up and transformed, scanning his wings repeatedly. He'd developed an alarming tendency to pitch towards the right during the flight here, no doubt due to the gunk on his wings.

His scans came up clean so Starscream took off, flying slowly to check for any more balance issues. Really, having a jet form was so frustrating. It needed constant care and more wear-and-tear repairs than any other form, but it was all worth it when he got to leave all the other 'cons in the dust. Seekers may be delicate, but if no one could keep up with him he didn't need to worry about that.

A flash of color below caught his attention and he banked widely, sketching a lazy circle through the air as he waited for the whatever-it-is to come out from under the shield of trees. When it did he almost fired up his engines and took off.

Optimus Prime.

The seeker turned sharply and was about to leave this place in the dust when he stopped. Prime hadn't noticed him, obviously. And there was a golden opportunity here, for Prime was approaching a stretch of road that followed a cliff. No trees, no guard rail... just open air.

And because he was a Decepticon at spark, Starscream simply couldn't resist.

He cycled out one of his guns and hung back, staying out of scanning range. As a seeker his scanners were far more advanced- they needed to be, to keep him from flying into things at mach oh-my-Primus. He carefully positioned himself, trying not to get too impatient even though the Autobot was driving almost painfully slow.

Then Prime was on the cliff, and Starscream moved.

He swooped in, firing not at the Autobot, but at the road and the cliff face below him. At first Starscream thought his oh-so-brilliant scheme was going to fail, as the frail-looking rock held its form surprisingly well. Then Prime, in response to being shot at, transformed. His shifting weight proved to be too much stress for the eroded rock, and the road began to crumble away.

For a moment Prime kept his balance, backing away quickly but steadily. He even had the presence of mind to pull out a gun, and Starscream was preparing to leave when something gave a loud _crack_. The seeker turned back just in time to see Prime slip and fall, vanishing into the not-so-comfortable cushioning of trees in the valley below.

Starscream waited until the rockslide stopped and nothing was moving. He took a few short, hopping flights closer but stayed away from the road itself. Prime was a tough mech; a drop off a cliff would be nothing to him. The seeker readied his guns, waiting for the Autobotto show himself- he inevitably would, if he wanted out of there. Otherwise he was trapped in a valley with no other way out.

Something laying on the torn cement glittered dully. Starscream hesitated, then moved a little closer and ran a scan. The energy signature was instantly familiar. A quick glance revealed no threat of Prime appearing, so the seeker blasted towards the road. He transformed mid-air and landed gingerly. After a moment to make sure he was balanced properly, he knelt and retrieved the scrap of metal. Engraved on it were a few glyphs and part of a circle.

_Ah, well. If I can't find Megatron, I can at least guarantee he won't be getting this._

The jet chuckled darkly and tucked the scrap of metal into his cockpit. Then he stood and carefully leaned over to peer over the cliff, his null rays whining in preparation.

Prime wasn't there.

"Oh slag," the seeker muttered. He didn't bother with scanning or even transforming. He simply leapt into the air, intent on putting as much distance between himself and this place as possible-

A hand seized his leg and swung him around, slamming him into the ground hard enough that his CPU momentarily stuttered. As he cycled through his systems, trying to sort through the various alarms and shut them all off, a dark shadow interposed itself between the jet and the sky.

"Hello, Starscream," Optimus Prime said, sounding tired and annoyed. Quite understandably, really.

"How did you get on the road?" the seeker asked, then immediately swore at himself. Judging by his lack of a reaction Prime was as yet unaware that he no longer had the Allspark fragment. Starscream needed to leave before he figured it out.

"I climbed. You're just not observant enough. What do you want?"

"Uhh... to say hello?" the jet tried. Prime wasn't going to kill him, that much was obvious. The point of this conversation was to remind the Decepticon how much more powerful his enemy was.

"You always shoot at mechs before you say hello to them?"

"Formal Decepticon greeting," the seeker countered instantly. Which was a bluff, of course, but he doubted Prime believed him anyways.

"Sadly enough, that might actually be true." Prime cycled his vents and stepped away. "I don't have time to deal with you, Starscream."

Under normal circumstances Starscream would be grossly insulted by such a comment. This time he leapt up and transformed, anxious to get out of there.

"Thank you for your mercy," he said in a tone that had never failed to annoy Megatron into drop-kicking the seeker out of his presence. "I appreciate your generous allowance of my survival. I-"

"Oh, just... go," Prime snapped. Without another word the seeker blasted off, not easing up until he was several miles away. There he landed and transformed again, carefully studying his find. The Allspark shard. The only surviving piece of the great Cube that had forged their race. Megatron's one hope.

The seeker closed his fist around it and laughed. This day had just gotten a lot better.

---

The Allspark piece was nowhere to be found.

Prime stopped trying to shift a particularly large boulder and sat back with a groan. It was time to admit it- he had no idea where the small metal scrap had hidden itself, and it could take him years to find it. He'd scanned for it repeatedly but, as small as it was, it had a small energy signature that could only be read within a certain distance. The thing could be fifty feet away and he'd never find it.

He turned and followed the same path he'd taken earlier onto the road. The sudden assault had been a shock, but Prime had caught a glimpse of the seeker as he'd been falling. Starscream, ever the predictable one, had been too impatient to wait for a better shot and too cocky about his temporary victory over the Autobot leader to pay attention. Prime had climbed back onto the road a ways down, knowing the seeker would be congratulating himself, and...

And Starscream had been hunched over, picking up something small.

"Oh no," he muttered. He quickly pulled himself onto the road and headed towards where the 'con had been standing. There was nothing there, of course, but his scanners picked up a faint trace of the Allspark's energy.

Prime stepped back and stood still, scanning the sky and hoping against all reason that Starscream was still nearby. He should have known. He should have realized the seeker had been too compliant, too quiet, too hasty to leave. There had been not one insult or shrill whine, which Prime had been grateful for then. Now he knew better.

There was no helping it. The seeker had made good his escape and was long gone. Prime's only consolance was that there was no way Megatron would be getting the Allspark piece as long as Starscream had it.

Jazz was going to be furious.


	15. Traded

Call me old, or set in my ways, but I'm not too fond of this row-at-the-top thing going on in the personal accounts. I liked it better as a bar on the side. Plus I suck at math, so whenever I go to look at my story traffic, I see a graph and I start panicking. For some reason whenever I see something geometry-related I have an odd fear that my old high school math teacher- the one who was also the basketball coach and spent the whole hour flirting with the eight cheerleaders in his class- will demand I write a thirty-seven-term equation explaining the corrolation between the graph and the axial tilt of the planet Neptune. He used random bullcrap like that to keep the rest of the class from reminding him that he was forty-two and married and those cheerleaders are sixteen and jailbait.

Oh lookie, I wrote Primus again. I haven't put him in this for a while, and I figured he needed a scene or two. He's not particularly pleased about recent events, but at least he's not resorting to drastic actions just yet. And yes, he's meant to appear somewhat child-like. I just can't picture him being old enough to be considered a mature member of his species; I don't know why, but he gives me the impression of being a fourteen-year-old trying to act grown-up and responsible. Now that things are falling apart, his facade is slipping and he's beginning to show his age- or rather, his lack of it.

And as a last note, those of you who are fairly observant will note that I have moved this into the movie TF category. We'll see if it has an impact on number of reviews.

Disclaimer: me no own. -le sigh-

---

Primus thunked his forehead against the broad, flat surface of the cube. Then, because it proved suitably painful, he did it again. And again. He turned away and made as if to walk over to the portal that showed him what was happening on Earth. Before he got two steps he went back and hit his head three more times.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he muttered to himself. "Of course nothing could go wrong, I've only let the greatest Decepticon menace loose on that planet. Why shouldn't everything go as I planned? Starscream has only always been a wrench in everyone's plans."

He continued on this self-depricating vein for several minutes. After a while he had successfully vented his fury with himself and was scowling at the images of the seeker and the merchant. Those two had radically altered everything with such speed and precision it almost seemed as though they'd rehearsed it. To declare that he hated them and punish them for simply being themselves was immature, highly irresponsible, and very, _very_ tempting.

"It is only a temporary setback," he told himself. "Merely a hitch in the grand scheme of things. I am still in complete control."

Oh, who was he kidding? He hadn't had anything resembling control of the situation since the moment Swindle arrived on Earth. Instead he'd chosen to rely on Swindle's innate ability to cause chaos. Well, he'd gotten his chaos, and he was now sorely regretting it. The merchant was off doing his own thing; Primus could only guess at his next move. Soundwave's ship was damaged almost beyond repairs. It wouldn't be too long before the Decepticon lost his near-infinite patience and journeyed to Earth to take matters into his own hands, thus complicating things even more. Starscream was wandering pointlessly, obviously torn between taking the piece of the cube and hightailing it or taunting Megatron with his possession of it. Megatron himself had been captured by humans, a state of affairs which had blindsided Primus completely. He'd almost forgotten the humans, had never imagined they'd have an impact on his plans.

The Decepticon team was in the middle of a slow-motion collapse, with its various members all taking off to do their own thing. It was enough to make Primus want to hurt something. Conversely, the Autobots had pulled together and were presenting a strong and united front. Which would be impressive and even slightly alarming, except their enemies were too busy squabbling amongst themselves to notice.

Primus reached out with one hand, brushing the image with his fingertips. Then he pulled back. There was no need for any drastic measures. Not yet. He'd have plenty of time to intervene, if need be. He started to turn and walk away, to leave that little planet to its own devices. A moment later he was back, sitting himself in front of the portal and settling comfortably. He was going to be there for a while.

---

Jazz couldn't have looked more stunned had Prime pulled out a gun and shot him.

Sam glanced worriedly at the saboteur, who had yet to move or speak. Or blink. Or even breathe without first being reminded to do so. He hadn't reacted at all when Prime apologized for the ninth time, or when Epps had walked in late and asked the wrong question, or even when a worried Mikaela had poked him so hard he'd almost fallen over. In fact, if it weren't for the small tremors he occasionally gave, one could be excused for thinking he'd turned to stone.

"Not taking it well, huh?" Lennox, who had returned just before Prime, studied the frozen saboteur sympathetically.

"Least he didn't start blaming everyone," Epps put in. His captain made a noise of agreement and Sam stared at them incredulously.

"He's right there," Mikaeal pointed out darkly. "He can probably hear you."

"He's right there physically," Lennox corrected gently. "Mentally he's in another universe. He can hear us, but he's not paying any attention to us."

"No," Jazz said suddenly. "I'm back."

"Are you all right?" Sam asked carefully. Of all the Autobots present, the only one he'd really seen get mad was Ratchet. He had no clue what sort of a temper Jazz might have.

"I'm fine. I'm cool." The saboteur gave a sharp bark of laughter and buried his face in his hands. "No, I'm not. I'm mad. I wanna take a thermal detonator an' shove it up Starscream's exhaust port an' watch th' fireworks." He sighed and dropped his arms, giving them an uncertain attempt at his normal cocky grin. "But hey, I'm alive, right? Better than th' alternative. An' if six billion people are cool with bein' human, I can handle it."

"And it's not as if Starscream's gonna get far," Sam added, grateful to see even a weak immitation of the saboteur's omnipresent good humor. "Not with us here, and Soundwave..."

"An' we didn't even know if it would be any use at all," Jazz tacked on. "It was just a small piece. Hell, th' whole thing might've been useless. I'm not exactly its normal kinda customer."

There was a pause as the humans tried to come up with a response to that. Finally Lennox smiled.

"Looks like it's back up to Primus, huh?"

"Yeah," Jazz shook his head at the irony. "Never got involved in anythin' 'fore now, but now it's almost like he's got a personal stake in this."

"Will?" They all turned to see Sarah, Lennox's pretty blond wife, standing in the doorway with her arms full of fussy baby. She looked exhausted and not too far off from throwing a fit of her own. "Annabelle won't stop crying. Could you take her for a while?"

"Uh, sure," the captain agreed cautiously. He unloaded his noisy baby from his wife and held her as though she were made of spun glass and would shatter if mishandled. Sarah gave him a quick kiss and almost ran back into the back room, where the female humans had their own room. Sam grinned at Lennox, who was staring at his baby as if he'd just been handed a wolverine.

"Still new to the parenting thing?" Mikaela asked with a laugh.

"I'm fine with it until she starts doing this." He nodded towards the baby's red face, complete with a sheen of snot and tears and drool. Sam took a big step backwards and was amused to see that Jazz and Epps had done the same thing. The captain also noticed this and scowled at them.

"Are you any good with babies?" Lennox turned to Mikaela hopefully.

"What, because I'm a girl, I automatically know how to handle a baby?"

Lennox studied her, then looked at the other three. A mid-twenties staff sergeant fresh from the desert. A giant-space-robot-turned-human. A seventeen-year-old boy. And himself.

"Given the alternatives..." he began. With a disgusted snort Mikaela took Annabelle and cradled her easily. Sam watched her, his mind boggling as he wondered exactly when Mikaela had gotten this experience with babies.

"Health class," she explained to the looks she was getting. "We had to take care of a doll for a week."

"Wow," Sam muttered. "I'm glad I didn't get that class." That was apparently a bad thing to say, for his girlfriend shot him a chilling glare.

Jazz groaned tiredly and dropped onto the couch next to Lennox. "Well, today's been wild," he drawled. "I'm almost afraid how tomorrow's gonna turn out."

"Hey, whatever happened to Ravage?" Epps asked suddenly. The saboteur grinned mischeviously.

"Got his firewalls back up, deleted th' virus, and high-tailed it outta here 'bout an hour 'fore Prime got here. He won't be sneakin' up on us again, though. Th' songs I downloaded into him are actually in his systems now. His CPU reads 'em as bein' meant to be there. It'll take a complete overhaul 'fore he stops playin' those songs."

Epps started to laugh and Lennox shook his head. "You are evil," the captain chuckled. Jazz smiled smugly.

"I know. Ain't it awesome?" The saboteur yawned and stretched. "All right, I'm done. See y'all in th' mornin'."

As he walked past Mikaela, he paused and leaned closer to study Annabelle. After a moment he backed away and muttered something under his breath. Then he continued on his way out.

"What'd he say?" Lennox asked, but Mikaela could only shake her head.

"Aside from the freezing-up thing, he handled that fairly well," Epps said. "Didn't get mad or anything."

"Well, maybe," Sam admitted. "But if I were Starscream I'd be avoiding him for a long time."

"And Prime," Epps added darkly. "He hides it well, but I could tell- he's royally pissed."

"Yeah, well, not often he lets one of his 'bots down," Jazz informed them, causing both soldiers to start.

"I thought you left!" the captain barked at the saboteur, who gave him an unapologetic grin in return.

"Came t' talk to Sam. Optimus says he's gonna go get your parents tomorrow mornin' whether or not they wanna leave, and by th' way, he'd really, really appreciate it if you went with."

"I'll go." Sam nodded.

"Great. Well, second try: night, folks."

"Maybe I should plan out what I'm gonna say to them," the teen mused as Jazz walked out. Not that it could really go any worse than the first try.

"I think it's a little late for that," Lennox muttered, and Sam sighed. He found himself silently agreeing with Jazz's earlier statement.

Tomorrow was definitely going to be interesting.

---

It appeared that there were benefits to possessing a scrap of the Allspark. Not many, but one Starscream was certainly taking advantage of: the ability to sense and track even the faintest energy signals from his fellow Cybertronians.

He'd sat in the forest all night, trying to figure out what those fools had done to the Allspark. The scrap he had was next to useless- it contained barely a fraction of the Cube's awesome power, and he had no way of tapping into or using even that little bit. The thing had certainly lost its most potent ability, for it could not create sparks.

Starscream had arrived at the conclusion that, save as a bartering chip, the thing was useless. Certainly it wouldn't be returning Megatron to his real body. However, no one else needed to know about its limitations.

Come dawn he'd transformed and flew off, heading northeast in the vague hope of miraculously wandering into and recognizing Swindle. He still wanted that jammer, especially now that he had the Autobots gunning for him as well. After a few moments, he noticed he'd drifted well off-course and was heading west, somehow changing direction without realizing. He'd repositioned himself and flew on- for about three minutes. Then he'd checked his GPS and found himself once more pointed to the west.

The drifting off-course concerned him. The fact that he didn't register he was going the wrong way until he actively checked his scanners scared him. Real, deep-in-your-spark there's-something-seriously-wrong-with-me scared him. A flier was only as good as his navigational abilities, and if Starscream's were even slightly off, he was a dead mech. This planet may be small but it was far too big for him to wander around blindly. And if he left the planet... in space all he had to guide him were his own navigational systems. One tiny error and he was slagged.

After a few minutes to collect himself, he'd started off again, this time checking his GPS constantly. And he realized something: while he was flying, before the drifting started, it felt as though something were pulling him westward. As if the planet's geomagnetic field had jumped while he wasn't paying attention. He'd simply been following the pull without noticing it.

He'd gone west, and found that there was thankfully nothing wrong with his systems. Instead, as he found when he explored the sensation that kept him going this way, he found that the pull actually originated from the Allspark fragment. It was tracking something, something that was moving. It hadn't taken much effort for him to figure it out from there. Wandering nowhere in particular- Allspark quiet. Looking for Swindle- Allspark tracking something.

So now he was following the pull, which was getting stronger and more noticeable, almost to the point of being unable to turn away. He was surprised at where he was- heading into southern California, near where the Autobots had first landed. This was probably where their base was located. Either the stupid Allspark piece was tracking the wrong mech, or Swindle had finally lost what little grip on reality he had.

Starscream's radio crackled and human voices began to fill the static-riddled line. The seeker immediately dropped back and lower to the ground. Of the various threats the humans posed to him, the one he took most seriously was whenever they sent fighter jets out after him. The humans' jets were almost as agile and fast as himself, and although their weapons weren't as impressive, one shot could easily bring him down. And being shot down while going that fast, and that high, was not a fun experience. It was also not one that could be repeated too many times.

And then the tug from the Allspark piece did a complete one-eighty. The force from the pull yanked him around too fast and nearly sent him tumbling tailfins-over-nosecone until he ran into something hard and not designed to support or withstand such an impact. His own quick thinking saved him from his second crash in as many days- he transformed mid-air and spun around, pointing himself in the new direction beofre transforming back. The quick change appeared to have gone unnoticed.

The second time this happened, approximately four seconds later, he decided that he might be going just a little too fast.

The third time this happened, approximately seven seconds after the second, he realized that the Allspark was only good for general areas. If he wanted to find Swindle he was going to have to track the merchant down himself.

So he flew in slow-broadening circles over the city, keeping the radio line opened and carefully screened, while trying to figure out how he was to identify Swindle. As soon as he found that two-faced merchant, he'd offer the Allspark fragment in trade for one of his jammers. And when Swindle went for the near-useless scrap, Starscream would shoot him. Afer all, betrayal was the thing the seeker did best, and Swindle was far too unpredictable to be allowed to live.

Now all he needed was to find the damn 'con.

---

It was utterly amazing, the things humans would tell complete strangers on the internet. Certainly this shocking display of stupidity was proving useful to Swindle. He'd found out more about Sam Witwicky by looking at a site called livejournal than he had by hacking the various government databases. And the really sad thing was, Sam didn't have an account on livejournal.

Through this, Swindle had discovered where he went to school, who his friends were, where they hung out... and he realized that, even if the Autobots were guarding the boy, they probably hadn't thought of the people in the boy's life. His parents, maybe. His friends? Probably not.

This was why Swindle found himself prowling the side streets of a small town called Tranquility on this lovely Saturday morning. The Saturday thing was important, he knew, because humans had school five out of seven days a week and he didn't really feel like waiting until mid-afternoon before carrying out his plan. Even with his jammer, he felt insecure. He was dangerously close to the Autobots' original landing site, and it was doubtful they'd set up their base too far from any of their human friends.

It was taking a ridiculous amount of scanning and studying to track down his current target, and the knowledge that the boy might not even be outside helped not a bit. Finally the 'con spotted a gawky-looking human that fit his description rolling down a side street on an odd-looking board with wheels. A few more in-depth scans and he confirmed it. The boy's name was Miles something or other- humans had an annoying tendency to give themselves multiple names- and he was 'best friends' to one Samuel Witwicky.

"Best friends," Swindle scoffed. "What a novel concept." Entirely a human thing- even the Autobots knew better than to make such casual commitments, for you never knew who would fall during the next fight. There were certainly friendships- Swindle himself had had a fairly relaxed rapport with Sideswipe at one point- but it was only once in a very rare while that they connected on a deeper level.

Still, the humans formed such connections and Swindle was Decepticon enough to not be adverse to using it to his advantage. He turned onto the street and hung back just behind the boy. He was by no means the stealthiest of mechs, yet the human seemed to not notice him.

_Either he's blind or I've radically changed appearances within the past thirty seconds without realizing it._

He ran a quick scan and sadly tossed the second option out. The first one was quickly ruled out as well, for the boy had stopped moving and was staring at a pair of humans across the street. Females, Swindle noticed. Then an idea bloomed and he did a few quick scans, pulled up a few images on the internet, ran his vocal processors through a modulator, and switched on his holographic projector.

So the boy liked females. Swindle could work with that.

He swung forward, turning and stopping just in front of the boy as he started to cross the street. The human's rolling board kept moving forward even as the human itself fell backward. One collided with Swindle's front tire, the other hit the ground with a painful-sounding _thump_. Swindle double-checked his holoform one last time, then rolled his window down.

"Are you all right?" the holoform asked. The boy had been rubbing at the back of his head. Upon hearing Swindle's modulated voice, his chin snapped up and he stared at the image presented him. He had to stand up to get the full view, and he did so quickly.

"Uhh…" he said oh-so-cleverly. Swindle decided to give him a little push in the proper direction. The board had angled itself slightly under his tire; he rolled backwards just enough that the thing twisted around and one of its wheels popped off. The boy didn't notice.

The holoform hooked one elbow outside the open window and peered down at the board. "Oh, it looks like you broke your… skateboard?" He paused to look up the proper word and couldn't help that it came out sounding like a question.

"Uhh…" came the reply. Swindle grunted in irritation. Maybe he'd gone a little overboard with his holoform, although he didn't see how. The thing was wearing clothes.

"Do you want a ride?" the 'con tried, masking his rising irritation as best he could. The boy's eyes went wide and his head bobbed up and down rapidly. He scrambled forward, snatching up his skateboard and the wheel and scurrying around to the passenger's side. Swindle had the door sitting open by the time he reached it and almost didn't wait for Miles to close it himself. Once he did, the mech silently locked everything up and rolled up his window.

"So, uhh… I'm Miles," the human said awkwardly. Swindle gave a pleased hum.

"Good," his holoform answered cheerfully. After a moment he realized he was expected to give a name in return. "Clarice. I'm Clarice. And you, you're friends with Sam Witwicky, right?"

"You know Sam?" Miles asked in surprise.

"Not personally," the holoform answered. Not yet, the mech added to himself. "Do you know where he is?"

"Uh, he's probably, uh, at his house?" The boy was taking constant and subtle glances at Swindle's holoform. More specifically, at the holoform's chest, which was a good deal more generous than most humans' Swindle had seen so far.

"Is it too much?" Swindle dropped the modulations and spoke in his voice. The boy frowned and glanced around, peering into the back seat. Swindle waited until he was looking back at the holoform before continuing. "Because according to the internet, teenage boys have a hard enough time focusing without hormonal overload. This is just a compilation I pulled together out of some images I found; I can change it if it'll help you focus."

He dropped the holoform entirely and Miles uttered a very shrill sort of shriek. He scrabbled for the door handle and beat against the window when he found it locked. Swindle took it all in stride, riding out the human's panic. Once the boy stopped he spoke again.

"Guess I should've known better than to use images of a porn star. Certainly did the job, though, didn't it?"

"Who are you?" the boy demanded. "How are you doing this?"

"I am Swindle, and what I am is Decepticon." He paused and noted the human's utter lack of response. "And you have no idea what that is. Huh."

"A talking car?" Miles muttered. "It's a talking car that drives itself."

"Yeah, a talking car. We'll go with that. So I ask again: where is Sam Witwicky?"

"It's like… it's like… it's Knight Rider!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, Knight Rider! So you're KITT? And I guess that makes me-"

"How about 'delusional'?" Swindle interrupted, irritated by the comparison. "I told you, my name is Swindle and I am a Decepticon, Primus fraggit, not some toy car driven by a computer."

"So what is a Decepticon, then?" Miles asked. And Swindle found, to his utter lack of amusement, that he didn't know how to answer that without contradicting himself.

"All right, fine. I'm a car driven by a computer. I'm also an intergalactic arms dealer and you, boy, are pissing me off, as you humans like to say. So either tell me where I can find Sam Witwicky or I start giving you a demonstration of my favorite toy and you can kiss half of California good-bye."

"I don't know!" the boy yelped, and Swindle finally sensed he was getting the fear-fueled respect he deserved. "He hasn't been to school for a few days and he wasn't home last time I stopped by."

"Were his parents?"

"Ye- no! No, they weren't, and I don't know where they all are."

"Oh good," Swindle answered calmly. He googled Sam's address and was almost there when Miles seemed to notice where they were going.

"What are you- I said they weren't here!"

"And yet I chose not to believe you," the 'con shot back. He was halfway through turning onto the street when he yanked himself back around, going straight ahead. Miles sighed in relief but Swindle was still tense. A moment after he'd cleared the intersection a huge black Topkick pulled up to the stop sign on the road Swindle had almost turned onto. The 'con kept all his scanners trained on it, knowing full well that Ironhide could- and at one point did- use his sorry aft as a football. When the Autobot turned in the opposite direction Swindle relaxed.

"That was close," he muttered. Then his scanners picked up something even more menacing than Ironhide and he cursed. "This will be closer. You!"

Miles jumped and frowned at the dashboard. "I have a name,"

"Yeah, whatever. Pretend to drive."

"Uhh… okay," the human muttered. He held both hands out in front of himself and moved them around in an odd manner. It took Swindle a few moments to realize what he was doing.

"Not there! Get in the driver's seat, idiot!"

"But you said-"

"Now!"

"Why?" But the human was moving, sliding into the proper seat. Swindle snapped the seatbelt around him and used it to push him into place.

"Army rules: no porn stars driving Decepticon vehicles." The real answer was that he didn't trust his holoform to stand up to any scans and preferred to use the real human available to him. He felt no need to explain that to the real human itself, though.

Then he shut down all scanners and sensors and clung as close to the curb as he could as the bass rumble of a diesel engine grew, until Optimus Prime rounded the curve in the road ahead.

They were large vehicles, both easily taking up all of their lane plus a good chunk of the others'. Swindle gave way to the Autobot commander, pulling over the curb and onto the grass. He would quite happily sink into the ground if that was what it took to not attract Prime's attention; unfortunately, reality deemed such a stunt impossible and left him huddled on the side of the road and praying.

And then Prime was past. Swindle was in the process of easing back onto the road when a yellow Camaro whipped around the curve.

"Hey, that's Sam's car," Miles said. Then he pressed his face against Swindle's window, ignoring the Decepticon's exclamation of revulsion. "Sam! Sam, help! The car is kidnapping me!"

"Get off!" Swindle barked, bucking his seat and sending the human tumbling into the back. The Camaro slid to a stop and Swindle saw a human in the smaller car staring at him. He didn't need to run a scan to tell him that Prime was stopping as well, but he did so anyways. He wasn't surprised at all to find he was right.

"See, now I have to run for my life," he groaned.

Then he kicked his engine over and launched himself forward, his front bumper hitting the Camaro's back side panel with enough force that he spun the small car into a full three-sixty. Had it been an Earth-made vehicle, he probably would have taken the whole back end off. Instead he just left an impressive dent.

"You hit him," Miles sounded surprised. Swindle barked out a laugh.

"I liked that option better than sticking around and waiting for Prime to get himself turned around. Better long-term prospects for me. Prime's not the soft-sparked fool he used to be, you know. He actually believes in killing his enemies now."

"So they're the good guys?"

"That depends entirely upon who you ask. Ninety percent of the universe says yeah. Me, well, they've spent a depressingly long time trying to kill me, so I'm inclined to say no."

He made a hairpin turn onto a main road and swung wildly around the stopped traffic, running a red light and blowing past two stop signs. He made another turn onto another big road, then slammed on his brakes and transformed.

The F-22 banked broadly, its right wing slicing through the air he'd once inhabited, then transformed and dropped to its feet heavily. Swindle picked himself up from where he had lunged to the side; he wasn't sure how much damage a crash with a jet would do him, but he was in no big hurry to find out. Miles lay on the grass, making an interesting wheezing noise, but a quick scan showed he wasn't dying. The former Combaticon took a moment to collect himself, then turned to face the jet.

"Starscream," he ground out. "So nice to see you."

"Where is Megatron?" the seeker demanded sharply. Swindle shrugged.

"Somewhere northeast of here, I think. The humans got him."

Starscream hunched his shoulders, pulling his wings closer to his body. They were both scanning continuously for Autobots, although Swindle knew the seeker would pick up on them first.

"This is useless," the jet snapped as he held out one hand. Swindle saw a scrap of metal in his palm.

"The Allspark?"

"Yes. It has none of its powers."

"Well, I can't do anything with it," Swindle countered in exasperation. This wasn't the first time a fellow Decepticon dragged a scrapped item to him in the hopes that he could fix it. "Find a Constructicon, although they'll say the same thing."

There was the roar of a diesel engine from behind Starscream. Both 'cons peered around to see Ironhide pulling onto their street some half dozen blocks back.

"You have signal jammers," Starscream turned back and spoke hastily. Swindle pulled one out and held it up.

"You wanna trade a perfectly functional, valuable jammer for a scrap of metal?" he asked.

Starscream's free hand curled around it, but Swindle didn't let go. "Piece of the Allspark," the seeker murmured, waving it in front of Swindle's face. Their scanners both pinged as Prime appeared on the road behind Swindle. "Both Megatron and the Autobots want it. You can trade it for anything."

That did it. In one lightning-fast movement, the merchant released the jammer and snatched the fragment. Starscream grinned and turned his arm over, cycling out one of his null rays. Swindle brought up his own free hand- and the gun in it- and before the null ray could fire, he snapped off three shots towards the seeker's vulnerable wings. The jet twisted away so only one hit, then transformed and blasted off.

A port opened along Swindle's right arm and six anti-aircraft tracking missiles took off hot on the Air Commander's tailfins. Starscream thus handled, at least for now, Swindle turned his attention to the Autobots. He reached back and swung Motormaster's gun around, pointing it towards Ironhide. For a moment he fingered the firing stud; then he pivoted on one foot and fired blindly.

The shot, wild as it was, still managed to clip Prime's shoulder. It had enough power behind it that the 'bot staggered a few steps backwards. Swindle pushed the gun back and turned, jogging off the road and into the tangle of buildings beyond. He paused long enough to snatch up Miles, who hadn't gotten too far, then burst into a full-fledged run, weaving through parking lots and crossing main roads. He finally dropped into his car mode and ducked into a gas station.

In that moment Starscream shot down the last of the missiles and angled himself towards the ground. He pulled up when he noticed the two Autobots, banking sharply and finally pointing himself to the northeast. Swindle's hiding spot didn't work as well on opponents on the ground, so he pulled onto the main road and began scanning the internet for a suitable alternate form to replace his current eyesore.

Miles sat, stiff and rigid, in the driver's seat. The Allspark fragment rested comfortably on the passenger's seat. After a few moments the human looked down at the steering wheel and quite succinctly summed up the past ten minutes.

"Whoa."

---

a/n: shorter than normal. why? because i'm fried to the bone. good night.


	16. Betrayals

I went to Omaha's Henry Doorly Zoo yesterday. It's in Nebraska, about a three-hour drive for us, it was freaking cold and my foot has several things to say about how much walking I did yesterday, yet I enjoyed it. It's one of the better zoos in the country and well worth visiting if you happen to find yourself in the Nebraska-Kansas-Missouri corner and have nothing to do. And I saw the sun yesterday too! We're getting into that lovely dreary stretch of a plains winter, where we have been known to go whole months without seeing the sun once. This time was four days, which doesn't really compare to last year's five weeks and three days but that's okay, and the cloud cover actually broke over St Jo so we got to see the sun for about twenty minutes. Then it set and I got up this morning to dreary grey as usual.

Judging from the feedback the favorite character in this story, both for me and readers, is Swindle. So sorry, kiddies, but you're gonna have to pick another: after this chapter he does a very wise thing and takes a powder, conveniently vanishing so the two and a half armies looking for the Allspark piece don't find him. So as this is the prelude to a temporarily Swindle-less story, he's gonna go out with a bang, which to him translates to 'as much trouble for everyone else as possible'. However, someone moves in to fill in his slot.

That's right, folks. Soundwave is finally stepping up to the plate, and he's mad as hell.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the reporter. Ah well.

---

Swindle was humming to himself, cheerfully scanning all the larger SUVs as he drove past yet another car dealership. He had every right to feel a little happy- everything was, for once, working out for him. He had the Allspark piece. He'd shaken a treacherous seeker off his tail. He'd temporarily- very temporarily, but he'd take what he could get- taken Optimus Prime out of the fight. He still had his jammer, which made him invisible on most levels, and to finish the job he would soon be replacing his eyesore of a vehicle mode. He was even working on a nice little present for Soundwave, which he affectionately dubbed his resignation.

Of course, he still had Miles. This wouldn't be too bad, as it made for a very effective back-up plan in an in-case-of-emergency-produce-hostage way, except for one small glitch. Swindle, never the most ferociously intimidating of mechs, had lost all respect after a poorly-planned conversation.

"So," Miles had asked, "you're, like, a merchant. Right?"

"Right," Swindle had answered. He was distracted, busy making sure he didn't have Ironhide crawling up his tailpipe.

"And the rest of these guys, they're all warriors, right? And they're pretty fierce."

"Mostly."

"So the reason I'm still here…" Swindle had seen where that was going but before he could come up with an appropriate lie, the boy answered his own question. "As a hostage, so you don't have to fight them! Right?" And the boy had congratulated himself on connecting the dots, and proceeded to act so smugly sure of himself that Swindle was very tempted to shot him just to prove that he still would.

"Ahhh! Boy band! Turn it off, turn it off!"

And the temptation was growing with each passing second.

"Boy, this is not a joyride," he snarled. Then he switched the radio station back to the 'boy band' and cackled when Miles whimpered.

"Five hundred robot-cars running around out there and I get the one that likes the Jonas Brothers," the human sulked to himself. Swindle snorted and returned to scanning. To be honest he couldn't care less what radio station was on; human music held little appeal to him. He also had little interest in correcting the boy's assumption of their numbers. After a few moments the human shifted, then reached forward and turned on the AC. Swindle immediately snapped it back off; his energy levels were going to suffer enough when he traded out his alternate form, he didn't want to drain any now.

"I'm hot," the human whined, and the 'con rolled his window down approximately three quarters of an inch. This generosity evidently did not please Miles, for he groaned and threw himself back in the seat theatrically. "This is torture."

"Hah!" Swindle barked, carefully passing a police cruiser. It wasn't Barricade, but there was no harm in being cautious. "You think I'm bad? Thank whatever deity you believe in that my old team mate Vortex isn't here."

"Why?" Miles asked dully.

"He's an interrogator."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad."

"No, it doesn't. Certainly a lot less awkward than 'this is Vortex, our torturer'." Miles made an odd noise and stared at the steering wheel, clearly not knowing how to respond to that. Swindle gave a snort. "See? Instant conversation killer."

"Uhh… yeah. Okay. I have to go to the bathroom now."

"Again?" Now Swindle was annoyed. Miles had gone to great pains to explain why it was important to let him out whenever he said that. The 'con had seen it, correctly from the human's disappointed response, as an escape attempt. But since he didn't want any organic waste anywhere near him, he had offered a compromise based off an idea he'd gotten from an online video.

"I didn't go last time," the human muttered irritably.

"Why not?"

"You wanted me to pee on a fire hydrant!"

"Dogs do it," Swindle shot back. The human gave a bizarre little half-laugh.

"I'm not a dog," he said in frustration.

"Close enough to do the trick. I'll even pick a less busy street this time." He took note of the last SUV in the line, a Ford Excursion. It wasn't new, but it was the closest match to his specs he'd found so far.

"No!"

"Fine," Swindle snapped. "But don't go making the mistake of thinking you're indispensable, boy, because if you're not. If you bathroom in me, you are dead."

" 'Bathroom' isn't a verb," came the reply. Swindle was about to give some sharp and unkind response when a sensor pinged.

"Oh no," he muttered, rerunning the scan in the vague hopes that something had been misread. It hadn't.

"What's wrong?" Miles asked, sounding alarmed. He was smart to be worried- anything that could scare Swindle was probably capable of reducing him to little more than a funny-colored smear on the ground.

"I have no idea how this slagging idiot keeps finding me! I have a jammer, for Primus' sake! It took Shockwave three vorns to develop these and took me almost twice as long to get my hands on them and _they keep finding me_!"

Panic lent a sharp edge to Swindle's voice. He was on a one-way road that ran alongside a highway; unfortunately, there was a large ditch and two cement barriers separating the two roads. To his left was the car lot, but the entrance was behind him. With an aggravated snarl Swindle slammed on the gas and shot forward. Miles, who was leaning over to peer out the windshield, had enough time to yelp before he was flung into the back seat. He sat up and started to protest, then twisted around when he caught a bright flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Coming around the corner and going easily twice the speed limit was a golden yellow Lamborghini.

"Primus must hate me," Swindle realized suddenly. "He really must."

"Look!" The human had slithered into the front passenger's seat. He was leaning forward and pointing at something. The 'con was about to inform the boy that he had other things to worry about when he saw what Miles had seen. A sleek shape, throwing glints of silver where the sunlight caught it, blew past high overhead. It was going far too fast to be anything non-military.

"Or not," the merchant mused.

"That's that jet guy, right?" the human asked. He craned around to watch the Lamborghini, which was quickly gaining on them.

"Starscream? Most likely. Certainly explains why my jammer never seems to work anymore."

Sunstreaker was getting dangerously close. Swindle momentarily considered holding out to see what the Autobot planned on doing next. Then he decided that teasing the twins was akin to teasing a hung-over Motormaster.

"Nice meeting you, but I gotta run," he said to Miles. "Good luck with the Sunny-'bot." And with that he swung himself around, threw his door open, and dumped the human on the ground.

Right in the path of the Lamborghini.

---

Miles hit the ground hard, his breath instantly knocked out of him. He managed to look up in time to see a flash of gold side paneling as the Lamborghini braked wildly to avoid him. Then he was too busy cowering, curled into a tight little ball, so all he heard was the squealing of tires and a long string of curses before an ominous _crunch-thud_. The car's powerful engine went quiet and the only noise was hissing and ticking of the cooling engine and the busy backdrop of highway sounds.

After a moment Miles uncurled and hesitantly sat up. Everything hurt, but thankfully Swindle had been going slow enough that nothing was broken. Tomorrow was going to be hell though. As he looked along himself for blood, he noticed a long trail of tread marks weaving uncontrollably across the road. They led to the Lamborghini, which was sitting about thirty feet up the road. It was facing the wrong way and appeared to have slammed its left fender into the concrete barrier. And, although Miles was probably just imagining it, it sounded like it was growling.

He approached it slowly, squinting as he tried to spot the driver. The car's heavy tinting made this a difficult endeavor, but when he reached it and looked into the passenger's window he saw the reasoning behind the tinting. There was no driver. He reached forward to tap at the glass—

"Don't you dare," a voice snarled, and Miles snatched his hand back.

"Oh God, you're one of them," he said as he scrambled away. The Lamborghini restarted its engine and nudged forward, revealing the extent of the damage. It was a good thing there was no driver, as Miles doubted that anyone would be able to open the crumpled mess that had once been a door.

"Watch it, fleshling. You should be grateful I missed you; I didn't have to."

Something hissed within the car and a cool voice suddenly spoke.

"Sunstreaker? What happened?"

"Slagger dumped the human in front of me," the Lamborghini snapped. "I hit a barrier trying to avoid it."

"How bad is the damage?" a new voice demanded, and Miles abruptly realized that they must be talking on some sort of radio. He started to edge away from the car- Sunstreaker. He'd had enough fun with talking cars.

"My paneling's all messed up, I have scratches and dents all over-"

"I couldn't care less about your paintjob," the second voice interrupted irritably. "I meant serious damage."

"It is serious!" Sunstreaker thundered, and Miles quickly decided that Swindle had nothing in the intimidation department compared to this guy.

"You said Swindle dropped the human," the first speaker was back now, ending the argument before it could begin. Miles shot the Lamborghini a nervous, wobbly grin, feeling as though he were being eyeballed by a hungry tiger.

"Yeah. It's right here."

"Bring him back to base, and try to be quick. I don't want you and your brother wandering around when Starscream and Swindle are both close by."

"You think we can't handle those two cowards?" Now Sunstreaker was growling again. He sounded offended by the idea. Miles deemed himself far enough away and burst into a run. He made it over the barrier and was halfway up the hill before a large hand snagged him and dumped him back onto the road. The robot crouched over him and transformed back into the Lamborghini.

"Miles?"

The boy blinked and pushed himself onto his elbows. "Sam?" he asked incredulously.

"It's okay, Miles. You can trust these guys, they won't hurt you." He was talking on the radio, Miles realized. The boy groaned and dropped back onto the asphalt.

"You _know_ these things?"

"Yeah. They're Autobots. They're the good guys."

"And Swindle's bad?" Miles glanced at the Lamborghini and looked away quickly.

"Well… he's complicated. He's kinda going freelancer."

"That's nice," Sunstreaker interrupted impatiently. "Can I go scrap him now?"

"No," the first voice said. "Bring Miles back to the base."

"... but he's filthy."

"Sunstreaker!" Now the speaker was getting agitated. Miles looked down at himself. Sure, bouncing off the road hadn't helped his general ambiance, but he wouldn't go so far as to say 'filthy'. With a grumble of acquiescence the Lamborghini grudgingly opened its functional door and Miles tentatively slid in. He could fell the entire car shudder as he settled into the passenger's seat.

"Touch anything and you ride in the trunk," Sunstreaker snapped warningly, and he definitely sounded much more impressive than Swindle had. Since the trunk was about the size of a postage stamp, Miles carefully folded his hands in his lap.

The ride to the base was fairly interesting. Several people gawked at the Lamborghini, probably marveling at the irony of such a beautiful car marred by such extensive damage. One cop tried to pull them over, no doubt thinking they weren't road safe, but Sunstreaker gunned his engine and took off while muttering about nosy humans. After twenty minutes Miles noticed another Lamborghini, identical to Sunstreaker save that it was fire-engine red, smoothly slipping into place beside them.

"Uhh…" he began, and was ignored. Once again he found himself making the comparison to Swindle. The Hummer had seemed much more kick-back and relaxed, but in actuality he'd been nervous and extremely cautious. Sunstreaker seemed physically unable to relax, yet he was calm and unconcerned by his surroundings. The Lamborghini was clearly higher on the food chain, and he acted the part.

"Geez, Sunny, what happened to you?" a new voice filtered in over the radio. Sunstreaker growled and swerved out of his lane, nearly clipping the red car with his already-damaged fender. The newcomer laughed and dropped back, ducking into the lane on Sunstreaker's right.

After that things went smoothly, with the red car occasionally pulling up beside them to make some snarky comment. Sunstreaker mostly ignored it, although once his passenger door exploded open and caught the red car's flank, leaving a long line of white down its side paneling where the paint was peeled off. Miles did not appreciate this, for even though he was buckled in the car was still going about ninety, and he was still sitting in the passenger's seat.

'Base' turned out to be an old warehouse. Sam and Mikaela were standing beside an open loading bay door, both looking worried. Next to them stood some black guy Miles had never seen before. He grinned broadly and stepped forward, patting Sunstreaker on the hood like a dog when the Lamborghini slowed to a stop next to him.

"Aww, lookit th' poor Sunny," he crooned, then laughed as Sunstreaker bit out a particularly detailed and anatomically impossible suggestion. He brushed his long hair away from his eyes, which couldn't be seen due to his sunglasses, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Th' Hatchet wants to see you, but he's kinda busy chewin' Prime out right now. I'd suggest waitin' a few hours."

"_Prime_ is getting lectured?" the red car cackled. The human smirked and nodded.

"Oh, yeah. It's th' old 'if th' 'cons are shootin' at each other, don't interrupt them' tune. Ironhide was hearin' it too, but seein' as he wasn't injured, he walked out pretty early on."

"Well, I did nothing wrong, so he has no reason to yell at me," Sunstreaker sniffed. The human barked out a laugh. Miles hesitantly started to open his door, not quite sure how he was supposed to get out when the red Lamborghini was sitting about six inches away, but the car moved while he was trying to figure it out. The teen clambered out and staggered a few steps away, dropping to the pavement. Sam was there in a flash, asking if he was all right, but Miles waved him off. He wanted to hear this; the two car-bots were treating this guy as if he were one of them.

"Nah," the human drawled. "It ain't Ratchet you're gonna be hearin' from. It's Prowl. He's not exactly happy with you two, ya know."

"What'd we do?" the red one demanded. The human held up a hand and started ticking off his fingers as he spoke.

"First you decide you don't wanna come home, you wanna wander Cincinnati, so you fake interference an' ignore Prowl's orders to return. When you do bother t' come back, you split up. Again, ignorin' orders. Then one of you geniuses starts talkin' to Starscream, of all mechs, an' then you go an' do what he tells you to do while _still_ ignorin' Prowl's orders. You took on Swindle alone, which by now we all know is a pretty stupid idea. You transformed in public. You almost left Miles sittin' by himself on th' road. You played tag with th' cops an' you tried t' run your brother off th' road. Ratchet'll probably step in here an' remind you that if anyone's got th' right to kill Sideswipe, it's him." He held up his hands. "I'm almost outta fingers here, boys."

There was a brief, sullen silence. Then the red car, Sideswipe, spoke up.

"Sunny did most of that," he grumbled. Sunstreaker snarled and revved his engine angrily.

"Stop calling me that!" he barked.

Sam caught Miles' elbow and pulled him to his feet. "Time to go," he muttered, and Miles had to agree as the two cars started arguing loudly.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"The twins or Jazz?" Mikaela replied.

"Jazz," Miles echoed curiously. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jazz watching the two cars trade insults, arms folded and grin firmly in place. "Is he, you know, human? He seems awful familiar with those car-bots."

"Yeah, he's human," Sam agreed breezily. "He wasn't always, but he is now."

Miles started to ask the obvious question but stopped before he could get the words out. He was too busy staring at the scene before him- more specifically, at the robot sitting in the corner on a makeshift table. This one was the biggest so far, clearing thirty feet easy and maybe even more, it was hard to tell due to how he was sitting. His left shoulder was a mess of torn and melted metal, with wires and tubes and other mechanical –type guts exposed. A smaller- comparatively speaking- robot was fussing with the nasty-looking wound while giving a non-stop lecture that the bigger robot appeared to be tuning out completely.

"… very lucky he didn't get a better shot or you wouldn't have an arm, or possibly even a head-"

"I thought he was supposed to be only some mid-level warrior," someone interrupted, and Miles suddenly realized that there were three people already in the room.

"He is," the smaller robot answered in a voice Miles recognized. "That gun isn't his. It actually belonged to another 'con."

"Motormaster," Jazz chipped in from behind them as he strolled over. "Picture-perfect 'con: second only t' big Megs in bad temper an' general nastiness. He was famous, or infamous, for takin' out his anger on anythin' that got in his way. Killed almost as many 'cons that way as he did 'bots. Shockwave recommended puttin' him in a gestalt team, hopin' it'd cool him off a little, but all it did was give him his own personal punchin' bags."

"Uhh…" Miles frowned, trying to sort the eight-million-and-one questions into something resembling order. "So… what's going on here anyways?"

"How much do you know?" Sam asked, and Miles shrugged.

"Swindle called himself a Decepti-something,"

"Decepticon," Sam nodded. "And?"

"And there was this jet dude- I thought he and Swindle were friends, but then they started shooting at each other."

There was a brief silence. Then Jazz cleared his throat. "They're both 'cons, so technically Swindle an' th' jet dude Starscream are on th' same side. However, neither of them knows what 'loyalty' means. Swindle's a merchant, so he goes with th' highest bidder. Screamer's just a traitor. They started shootin' at each other cause it'd be better for Starscream if Swindle were taken out of th' picture, an' Swindle's smart enough an' been around long enough to know to be prepared for stunts like that."

"Ah. Swindle also said the Decepticons are the bad guys, kind of."

"They are," Sam agreed darkly. Miles frowned at this.

"So then… what, there's two kinds of…" He paused, trying to figure out what to call them without insulting them. "Robots?"

"Kind of," the smaller robot replied. "It's not like we have different species or breeds, like organics. We distinguished ourselves only by function before the war."

"Now we distinguish ourselves by faction," Jazz said. At Miles' blank look, he explained. "Armies. There's th' 'cons, an' then there's us Autobots."

"You're one of them?" Miles asked as he gestured towards the robots, and the entire room went still. He'd asked a very bad question, he realized, although what was so bad about it he couldn't say. Jazz merely smiled.

"Yeah," he replied, something indescribable in his voice. "Yeah, I am."

"How did-" Miles began, then stopped. Mikaela, who was standing almost directly behind Jazz, was waving her hands and mouthing the word 'no'.

"I died an' Primus, who you could say is our god, brought me back like this for reasons unknown," Jazz explained anyway. He half-turned to face Mikaela. "No need t' treat me like I'm made of glass. We got bigger things to worry about right now."

Well, that made no sense, but okay.

"When Swindle and Starscream were talking, before they started shooting, did they make some sort of deal?" The other three people, two men and a pretty blond lady, had moved closer. The man who spoke now was watching Miles carefully.

"A deal?"

"Did Starscream give anythin' to Swindle?" Jazz translated. When Miles hesitated, he explained. "Screamer stole somethin' pretty important from us. He might've given it to Swindle, thinkin' he'd get it right back after he killed him, 'cept it didn't work out so well."

"Yeah," the teen nodded slowly. "The jet- Starscream? He had something, I didn't see what, and he wanted to trade it for a signal jammer or something. He said the thing was useless but the Autobots would do anything to get it so Swindle took it."

"Did Starscream get a jammer?" the man asked.

"He got something, I don't know what it was."

"Great," the smaller robot muttered sourly. "We have a rogue seeker who's now all but invisible and a Decepticon merchant with the last piece of the Allspark."

"Not to mention Barricade an' Dead End to th' north, Soundwave sittin' over our heads, an' Megatron very possibly alive an' well," Jazz pointed out, sounding just a hair too cheerful.

"Megatron!" Miles yelped, startled by how familiar the name was, then clamped both hands over his mouth as everyone in the room turned to look at him.

"Megatron what?" The big robot spoke for the first time, leaning forward as he did so. His tone was soothing. "Did you hear something about Megatron?"

"Yeah," Miles muttered. "Starscream asked where he was, and Swindle said the humans have him."

There was a pause. Then Jazz snorted and burst out into merry laughter. "Poor Megs has had nothin' but bad luck on this planet," he said around his chortles.

"Sector 7?" Mikaela asked quietly.

"Probably," the man who had asked about Swindle's and Starscream's deal groaned. "Idiot Simmons. What the hell is he thinking?" He started to walk away and pulled his cell phone out, then paused. "Oh no."

"What?" Jazz peered over his shoulder and groaned. "Slaggin' Pit. Sam, check your phone. Ratchet, can you see if you can access the internet?"

"What's going on?" Miles demanded in alarm. Ratchet, the shorter 'bot, spoke over him.

"No access. There are firewalls everywhere."

"And I don't have a signal," Sam added. He glanced worriedly at Jazz. "This is exactly what they did last time."

"Shut down all forms of communication," the other man agreed. "Soundwave?"

"What sound wave?" Miles asked.

"Not what, who. Decepticon communications officer. Real scary mech. But he didn't do this." Jazz wandered over to Sam and frowned as he peered at his cell phone. "No reason for him to, he's already monitorin' everythin'. No, this is someone else. Someone who doesn't want Big Brother watchin' everythin', so he slaps a blindfold on him. Can't stop Soundwave from accessin' the data, so you stop the data from bein' worth accessin'."

"Starscream or Swindle," Mikaela said.

"Swindle," Ratchet answered immediately. "Starscream's too arrogant to care about what Soundwave knows and not a good enough saboteur to do anything about it if he did care."

"Cooks up a nasty line of code, bounces it off a satellite, infects Soundwave's monitorin' computers an' shuts down th' world's communications just like that," Jazz mused. "It'll take Soundwave days to untangle it all."

"You could at least try not to sound impressed," Ratchet snapped irritably, and Jazz grinned.

"This is a problem, guys," the man- Miles was beginning to think of him as the 'boss' of the human group by how he acted- informed them. "What if the 'cons decide they want Megatron back? Those S7 idiots could be in real danger."

"What _is_ S7?" Miles wondered. Jazz answered smoothly.

"Long story. Now, I got one last question for you: that thing Swindle got from Starscream, did you actually see it?"

"Yeah. It was a piece of metal, kinda old-looking, and it had a funny pattern on it."

"It's official," Ratchet muttered. "Swindle has the Allspark piece. Do we have anything he may want in exchange?"

"Sure," Jazz snorted. "We've got th' Ark. That's what he's gonna want right now, more'n anythin': a way off this deathtrap of a planet."

"Are we going to give it to him?" Sam asked softly, looking at the big 'bot.

"We need the Allspark piece," the robot answered slowly. "I would rather not lose the Ark, but…"

"But nothin'," Jazz snapped. "Don't go tradin' our ship for a piece of scrap metal that won't even work. It's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Now the big guy sounded a little testy. Jazz stood his ground.

"It ain't my choice, I know. But that Allspark piece isn't gonna help us, Optimus, an' I don't wanna lose our only way off-planet just to confirm what we already know. I don't want to live with that."

Miles blinked in surprise, particularly when the big 'bot inclined his head in agreement. Clearly there was more going on here than he understood.

"Which still leaves the problem with Sector 7," the boss human reminded them.

"Do you know where any of them are?" Ratchet asked. "Because if we can't communicate with them, we'll need to locate them and assume they have a way of talking to each other."

No one answered. After a moment the big 'bot- Jazz had called him Optimus- leaned back and gave a sound startlingly similar to a sigh.

"Then there's nothing we can do," he said, sounding tired. This seemed like as good a time as any, so Miles carefully spoke.

"Uhh… I still have no idea what's going on around here," he said. Jazz shot a quick glance towards Optimus, then grinned and turned to face the boy.

"Once upon a time, there was a planet called Cybertron…"

---

"Operation: Get The Slag Off This Planet commenced," Swindle muttered. Most other times he'd be worried about his new habit of talking to himself, but right now he needed the noise. Ever since he'd traded his neon-yellow Hummer mode for a more sedate dark purple Jeep Commander, the Allspark piece had been giving off a weird humming noise. He talked to himself to distract from the odd sound which, to be honest, was starting to alarm him.

He was in a business office's parking garage. He'd ducked in here to change his alternate mode so Starscream wouldn't know what to look for anymore. After that, with his energy levels dipping dangerously low, Swindle had decided to stay put for a while. Before he could recharge, though, he had work to get done.

Phase One was uploading his resignation. It had gone beautifully; the planet's communications had ceased almost immediately, effectively crippling Soundwave. Without the constant flow of data the 'con was really nothing more than another high-level warrior with one or two nasty tricks. And Swindle himself could access the internet and tap into phone lines while still leaving Soundwave in the dark, an ability the merchant needed to complete the next step.

Phase Two would take a little more effort. He wanted to force these humans to finally see what was going on right in front of their noses. Unfortunately he couldn't do this himself, so he was enlisting some help. After several minutes of scanning the internet, he found exactly what he needed: a newspaper reporter. If he played his cards right, he could cause world-wide panic, thus distracting and disabling the Autobots almost as handily as he had Soundwave.

Now all he needed was a reporter, and he already had a pretty good idea of which one he wanted. Swindle settled lower on his tires and noted abruptly that the Allspark had stopped humming. He considered that and came to a startling realization. The Allspark piece had lost its innate power, true, but it could still take in and manipulate energy around it. It was still useful, he decided. You just had to put more into it in order to get something out of it. He filed that information away and smiled to himself.

Despite Starscream, despite Sunstreaker, things were still going remarkably well.

---

Pearl Goodman was frustrated.

She'd been working the political beat for several months now. Fresh out of intern hell and keen in her field, she'd expected to go shooting straight to the top. True, there were other reporters who were more experienced and perhaps sharper than her, but she was clever and quick and daring- all the marks of a top investigative reporter. So this was frustrating beyond all belief.

It took a bit of juggling to open the door, since she was carrying a drink tray with four iced coffees in one hand and a bag of bagels in the other, but she managed to catch her foot in between the heavy door and the frame. After a moment she pushed it open. There was a meeting with the editors; with any luck she'd catch a break and someone would give her something worthwhile.

Her desk phone was ringing. She put the bagels down to answer it.

"Hello, Pearl," a silk-smooth voice said before she could say anything. "Take a quick break. I've got some news you want to hear."

"I've got a meeting in three minutes," she informed the person. She'd gotten plenty of whackos trying to impress her with some grand new story, people who wanted to see their names in the paper and found her easier to reach than any of the big-name reporters.

"I advise you skip it. Aren't you tired of being the coffee girl?"

Her head came up and she looked around, feeling foolish even as she did so. She'd walked a block and a half carrying four coffees; her role in this office was fairly obvious.

"Who is this?" she asked warily.

"I prefer to remain anonymous."

"Right," she murmured. "I'm hanging up now, and if you call again I'll block your number."

The other person actually laughed. "I would absolutely love to see you try," he chuckled. After a moment he seemed to collect himself. "All right, Pearl, you need a little proof. Easily done. Look to your left."

She looked, and saw her computer. It had been off when she'd left earlier, but now it was humming merrily away. The screen was flicking through various web sites, the mouse pointer moving by itself.

"How are you doing that?" she asked sharply.

"You might say I know machines, inside and out."

"What?"

"Sorry, that was a bad pun and an inside joke all in one. Let's just see if we can skip the 'how' and 'why' and move right along to the 'what', shall we?"

Pearl put her desk phone down and picked up her cell phone. She pressed the right sequence of buttons and the call channeled itself to the cell phone as well. Once it was connected she started recording the call.

"Pearl, I am going to tell you something that your whole world should know, yet due to government conspiracies and secret agencies, very few people are actually aware of." Her mystery caller paused and she held her breath. "There are giant alien robots running loose in America."

"Oh, please," she spat. "Not that again. Look, one of our best reporters already looked into that. He found nothing."

"That's odd. I have it on very good authority that it was one of those robots that blew out those freeway bridges in Cincinnati."

"That was poor building materials and erosion," she said. She didn't buy that story in the least, but it was the official version and her paper wasn't close enough to Ohio to do any real digging.

"Actually, Pearl, that was probably this guy."

She frowned at the phone, then glanced over to her computer. She watched as a stop-action camera took several frames of children playing on a school playground. Then an obscenely bright yellow Hummer wiped out the fence and most of the monkey bars. Pearl felt her hand tighten around the receiver as the Hummer pulled out a huge gun and aimed it at the school.

"And if that doesn't do it for you, this was taken by a traffic camera only a few hours after that."

The picture was grainy but she could see as a giant robot-looking thing strolled onto the main road. It folded into itself and literally changed back into the Hummer from the school video.

"What is this?" she asked softly.

"Proof. You can take this to whatever tech you want; you'll find that they're both real. Now, then, I can't really stick around to answer any questions. However, I have the names of a few people who might know a little more about this robot invasion than they're letting on. So here's the deal: ditch the meeting and I'll give you a name."

Pearl looked at the coffees in their cardboard tray. She looked at the phone with her smooth-talking champion. She looked at her computer screen replaying both videos endlessly.

"Deal," she said. If this turned out to be a bust she'd have lost one chance. If this was real, it would kick-start her career. If this was real, she would be the most famous and respected reporter in the country.

"The first name you're going to want to chase down belongs to a seventeen-year-old kid who happens to own a Camaro with some interesting customizations."

"Camaro," she echoed, rapidly typing everything into her BlackBerry.

"Mm-hm. His name… is Samuel James Witwicky."

---

Astrotrain stomped onto the ship's bridge, his irritation all but visible. This was torture, he'd decided. True enough, he'd let Starscream escape, and had aggravated the seeker into shooting out the ship's engines, but there was a certain line between 'punishment' and 'torture' and Soundwave had crossed it.

Rumble trotted after him, still playing that incessant noise over his comm. line. "Sorry, boss," he chirped. "No can do. We're gonna need supplies and help from someone who knows what they're doing before we go anywhere."

"Why are you still listening to that garbage?" Buzzsaw demanded, and his fellow insect turned towards him.

"Because it's fun," he answered. "I really like this one." And he cranked up the volume, filling the bridge with echoes.

"_We are Siamese if you ple-ease… we are Siamese if you-"_

"Rumble," Soundwave snapped, and Rumble immediately shut it off. Astrotrain suddenly noticed that the bridge seemed much quieter and darker than it had when he'd left. The computer that monitored Earth's communications activity had gone silent.

"We're being jammed?" Rumble demanded in open shock.

"No," Lasorbeak growled. "A virus was uploaded that shut down all of Earth's communication lines."

"Who did that?" Astrotrain asked. Soundwave turned to face him and the triplechanger took a half-step back. Oh yeah, the officer was mad.

"Swindle did that," he said softly, and Astrotrain decided that Swindle had best avoid Soundwave if he wanted to remain in one piece.

"So… now what?" Rumble broke the silence that followed. Soundwave turned back to the computer console and pressed a button, shutting it off. No one was brave enough to speak again until Soundwave answered.

"Now we fix this mess." The communications officer looked up, pinning a long, steady stare on all of them. "Now we go to Earth ourselves."

---

Reggie Simmons was having a bad week.

If it wasn't freeway bridges in Ohio, it was jets and pickup trucks in California, he thought wryly. The 'bots seemed to have a different understanding of 'blending in' than he did. And now world-wide communications had been disrupted again. This was starting to feel like déjà vu.

He climbed out of the SUV and slammed the door shut, striding over to the building crouching low over the sun-blasted earth. Whoever had thought of putting a military bunker in northeast San Bernardino County obviously didn't realize that the area nearby was called Death Valley for a reason. The air was stiflingly hot and unbearably dry; he could feel it baking his lungs with each breath. Not for the first time, he wondered why S7 had decided to claim this bunker as its own, especially since their headquarters in the Hoover Dam had been so close.

As he was fumbling with the keys, trying to unlock the door's seven rusted-out locks, a black sedan pulled in beside his car. Simmons stopped juggling the key ring and narrowed his eyes, watching as three men clambered out. Two of them had their guns out and ready to shoot. The third went around and started messing with something in the back seat.

That 'something' turned out to be a person, a real mountain of a man. He had about four inches over Simmons' six-foot-two frame and was somewhere in the neighborhood of two-hundred-seventy pounds of pure muscle. His sandy hair fell into his eyes; he tossed his head in annoyance and squinted against the too-bright sunlight.

There was something about him that seemed familiar to Simmons, a deep bone-chilling sense of recognition that made him want to get back in his car and just drive away.

"Ah! Agent Simmons!"

Simmons barely glanced at the man who'd recognized him. He took the last three steps until he was in front of the prisoner, who gave him a slow, feral smile.

"Agent Simmons," he repeated. "It's good to finally meet you. Recognize me?"

"Yes," Simmons said despite himself. "Megatron."

And the Decepticon lord merely smiled.


	17. Omens

Attention loyal readers! I will be going to my grandparents' for Thanksgiving. This will be a problem, as they have a sucky signal there and my laptop lives on wireless. They have a computer that connects to the internet, but it's older than my car- the twelve-year-old car, not the brand-new one- and it has a dialup connection that makes continental drift look lightning-fast. I have only just found out about this, meaning I have enough time to finish this chapter and post it, but the next one won't be up for at least two weeks. Checking my e-mails alone is going to be a four-hour adventure, there's no way I'm gonna be able to type and upload another chapter while I'm there.

I will be responding to comments like normal. Just give me a little more time, since my grandfather is apparently convinced that I'll download a virus and kill his computer if he doesn't watch my every move. So I'll probably be sneaking in late at night to talk to people. Just a warning.

Disclaimer: me no own.

---

"You know, last time I saw you, you were a little bigger."

Megatron slumped lower in his chair and eyed the humans across from him. Simmons had been afraid of him, at first. Then it had worn off, and to Megatron's extreme annoyance, he had immediately began trying to get in touch with the Autobots. He was having no luck, and had in fact discarded his cell phone as useless several minutes ago. His little hand-held computer had gone the same way just as quickly. Now he was pacing behind the man who had first captured the Decepticon, occasionally making ill-tempered comments about carrier pigeons.

The man sitting across the table had introduced himself as Agent White, and judging from his comments he'd been one of the people who had been watching over Megatron while he was frozen. He felt this gave him the right to insult his prisoner all the more.

"Yeah, you've definitely changed," White mused. "Mind if I ask how it is you're human?"

"And alive?" Simmons added.

"And human," White glanced towards the other man. "How a mech turns into human is a little more interesting, sir."

"To you, maybe. Me, I couldn't care less if he could turn a flea into a whale. What I care about is how they managed to bring the dead back to life." Simmons rested his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Because if they can, it's a Decepticon thing. The Autobots haven't figured it out."

"They haven't?" Megatron countered lazily. "Maybe they just aren't telling you everything. Prime isn't the trusting fool he used to be. It could be he's lying to you."

Simmons straightened up and growled something under his breath. The 'con smirked at him.

"You know they're leaving you out," he said. "That's why you aren't driving down there right now. They know something and they aren't telling you, so now that you've got something they might want you aren't going to give it to them."

Simmons sneered and returned to pacing. Megatron smiled at the man, a serene smile that seemed to annoy him even more. He was right and they all knew it.

"Hey!" White slapped a hand on the table between them, earning a flat, bored stare from his prisoner. "Alive and human! How?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. He spread his hands as best he could. "A gift from Primus, perhaps."

"Primus," White echoed, glancing at Simmons. "Is that your god? Must be a lot more involved than ours."

"Not really." Megatron studied his reflection in the mirror lining one wall.

"Not really your god or not really involved?"

"Both," the 'con leaned forward again. "He is not my god. I have no use for him. And if he thinks to use me, he is sadly mistaken."

"Agent Simmons, sir?" The whiny man was standing in the doorway, sending nervous glances towards Megatron. Of the four men currently here, only Simmons and White knew who he was, but their cautious and fearful attitude towards him was rubbing off on the other two.

"What?" Simmons demanded when it became apparent that the man was waiting for a response.

"Uhh… well… I need to talk to you, sir." The man glanced at Megatron. Simmons stepped forward and started ushering the man out of the room, but the man started talking before they were out.

"We were looking in the car and we found something extremely odd in the wheel well. It looks like a…"

The door slammed shut as Megatron sat up. He stared at the door, as if someone was going to come back and explain it to him, well aware that White was still in the room and was watching him. He didn't care- he was too busy replaying his last conversation with Swindle.

_I adapted one of my jammers to mask your spark and left it in the car while your friends were looking for you._

"You know what it is?" White asked.

"No clue," Megatron glanced at him and sat back, pretending like he was acting like he didn't care. "Better not touch it."

"No, huh?" White stood up and walked over to the door. He paused long enough to look at Megatron once more. "So you wouldn't care if we, say, took it apart?"

He sat up quickly, then dropped back into his seat just as fast and stubbornly shrugged. White grinned and walked out, no doubt going to tell Simmons that Megatron knew what it was and didn't want it dismantled. The Decepticon watched the door close and waited for several minutes, then allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Death by Starscream, rescue by Barricade- he didn't care. Anything was better than staying here.

---

_-Hey, boss, got the Deadster and Barricade here._-

Soundwave lifted his head, as though Rumble and his two runaways were within visual range. He was working on a portable computer pad, trying to find some way to circumvent Swindle's virus. It was a simple enough thing; unfortunately, it was also well-written and clever, and its simplicity hindered more than helped any attempts to remove it.

-_Frenzy?-_

_-With 'Cade.-_

_-Return to the rendezvous point- _Soundwave answered as he returned to his work. After a moment he ordered the others to check in. Nothing of interest, until it came to Astrotrain.

-_I've got Starscream wandering around near Los Angeles_- he reported smugly. –_Not paying any attention to where he's going. He's got one of Swindle's jammers, but it's him. Also, I'm picking up some odd spark signals. One near here, one to the northeast.-_

-_Locations_- Soundwave ordered. He fed the coordinates Astrotrain gave him through a GPS- the virus hadn't shut down the global positioning satellites. -_Astrotrain, bring Starscream here.-_

_-Alive?-_

_-Yes.-_

_-... is that 'definitely' yes or 'if it's convenient' yes?-_

Soundwave lifted his head again. The triplechanger's insistence was fairly ominous. –_Definitely yes-_ he answered. Astrotrain didn't respond at first. When he did, his reply wasn't too terribly reassuring.

-_All right, I'll see what I can do.-_

The officer waited for several minutes, then checked the GPS for the coordinates. One was in Los Angeles, in the Autobot base. The other was a good distance away from the Autobots. Of the Decepticons, Ravage was closest.

-_Ravage: investigate the spark signal.-_

_-And what do I do when I find it?-_ The felinoid was being cautious now. Soundwave had no time for these games.

_-Destroy it.-_

---

"I think I know why no one wants to play with you," Sam muttered sourly as he scanned his cards. Across the table, Jazz chuckled.

"One bad hand don't mean I'm cheatin'," the saboteur responded breezily.

"Yeah, but four in a row does," the teen countered.

The two were sitting outside, enjoying the coolness of early evening. For a while there'd been a show as well, for Ratchet had needed something to help fix up Prime's shoulder and had 'sorted' through the stray piles of random stuff littering the warehouse. His version of sorting had included taking everything he didn't need and pitching it over his shoulders until he had a sizeable pile behind him, then realizing he needed to search through the pile because there was stuff under it and thus beginning the process over again. After about half an hour of this Sideswipe and Ironhide had been tasked to taking everything the medic tossed aside and getting it out of his way. Neither 'bot being creative thinkers, at least not when it came to organization, they'd simply taken everything and tossed it into the parking lot.

It had taken Prowl almost two hours to catch on to them. Once he did he reminded them that all this junk was going back inside eventually- eventually being now. For a while the two had been dragging the stuff back inside with as much grumbling as physically possible. Then Prime had called it off, saying that until things had settled down, he preferred they not be outside advertising their presence.

So Jazz had dragged a folding card table out of the junk and set it up, and now they were playing double solitaire. Somehow Jazz had relieved Sam's deck of all its aces, although how he'd done so Sam was still unsure of. The first two games he'd had all four. Then, one by one, they'd started vanishing.

"Question," Jazz said suddenly. Sam glanced at him, which the saboteur took as permission to continue. "Why ain't you in there helpin' Lennox give your parents th' giant-alien-robots-are-here speech?"

"I was," the boy muttered to his cards. "But when they heard about Megatron they…" He dragged his hand through the cards, mixing the decks and stacks together. "Will said I was distracting them too much."

Jazz regarded him silently, sunglasses pulled down far enough for those eerily bright blue eyes to be seen. After a moment the former 'bot smiled and sat back in his chair.

"Can't wrap their minds around th' fact that their son saved th' world? Or is it how you saved it that's got 'em lookin' at you so funny?"

Sam stared at the table, afraid of what he'd see on Jazz's face if he looked up. "I killed him, Jazz."

"Good." Jazz snorted and the teen glanced at him, surprised by the vitriol in the saboteur's voice. "This may be hard for you t' understand, Sam, but you got it easy here. You'll prob'ly never forgive yourself for killin' another livin' thing, which is good in its own way, but you gotta understand that sometimes there are things that just need killin'. One livin' being that's gotta die so th' rest can survive. Megatron was one of 'em. Our race is good as dead- no, don't apologize, it was dyin' 'fore the Allspark was destroyed. But Megatron was gonna run our kind into th' ground. He was gonna drag this war out until every last 'con or 'bot was dead, and if it was the Autobots that died out, Primus save th' rest of th' universe." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Wasn't always this way, ya know, but you can't predict what will be an' you can't change what has been. No, Sam, Megatron needed to die. Th' only thing I regret is that it fell to you t' kill him."

Sam looked away again, for a different reason this time. With his carefree attitude, his jokes and his easy grin, it was incredibly easy to forget what Jazz was. He was a warrior, just as much as the twins or Ironhide. He was ancient; he'd probably been around before the first primate even thought of descending from the trees. He was a survivor of a race pushed to the brink of extinction by an endless war, and he bore the scars associated with it.

"Sam Witticky?"

Sam glanced up, mouth opening to correct yet another butchering of his name, and left it hanging there. A woman he'd never seen before was strolling towards him, picking her way carefully across the junk-filled warehouse parking lot. Jazz barked out a Cybertronian curse and lunged to his feet, dashing into the open bay behind them.

"Yeah?" Sam answered warily. The woman smiled at him- the fakest smile he'd ever seen, and that was saying something considering it was competing against Simmons'- and came to a halt a few steps away.

"I'm Pearl Goodman," she said, offering her hand. Sam glanced at her nails, which were sharp and long enough to be called talons, and tentatively shook her hand. He wondered where Jazz had gone and was surprised to find himself missing the saboteur. Jazz had a way of dealing with people that made Sam feel like a tongue-tied idiot.

"Uhh… hi," Sam said, quite honestly not knowing how to reply to that. The woman was clutching her purse close to her and staring around in open curiosity. She seemed especially fascinated by the truck engine sitting in the middle of the parking lot, although to be honest it didn't seem too terribly out-of-place with half a suspension system and several tires all scattered around as well. He had no idea what this warehouse had produced, but clearly its workers had been unkind to their shipping trucks.

"I thought this was a military post," she said, and Sam could only shrug.

"It's a bit of a fixer-upper," Jazz's voice drawled from behind him, and the teen could have kissed him for coming back. The woman glanced at the newcomer.

"And you are…?" she prompted.

"Curious, mostly. Why are you here?" Jazz didn't do suspicious often, but when he did, he did it well. He stood just behind Sam, arms folded and head tilted ever so slightly. The sunglasses that protected his sensitive eyes- so familiar on him he looked odd without them- hid his expressive gaze.

The woman hesitated, then reached into her purse and produced a business card. "I'm a reporter," she said.

Jazz recoiled as if she'd tried to hand him a poisonous snake. "Reporter?" he echoed. "What are you doin' here?"

"I received a tip," she said primly, obviously insulted by this response. "They said your friend here may know something about the freeway bridge collapse in Ohio."

Sam went ramrod stiff and stared at her. "I had nothing to do with that!" he barked. "It wasn't even-" He stopped mid-sentence when Jazz dropped a hand on his shoulder. The Autobot's grip was cautioning as well as reassuring. The reporter was studying the saboteur closely, clearly recognizing him as the biggest roadblock between her and her story.

"Sam's been here," he answered. "Now I got a question for you. Th' person who gave you your tip- he called it in?" She stared at him, then slowly nodded. "Was this before or after th' phones stopped workin'?"

"My phone is fine," she shot back.

"It was then," Jazz agreed blandly. "Is it fine now?"

"I don't see what this has to do with anything," she snapped, but one clawed hand ducked into her purse. She produced her cell phone, wrapping her hand around it and glaring at the two males as though daring them to comment, and glanced at the screen. A puzzled frown worked its way across her face before she regained control.

"Didn't think so," the saboteur murmured. He gave a slight tug on Sam's shoulder, pulling him towards the building, and took the business card the reporter was still holding. She started to say something, but Jazz cut her off. "Nice meetin' you, Miss. Hate to chat an' run, but we've got things to do. Bye." And he hustled Sam into the warehouse, watching over his shoulder to make sure the woman didn't follow.

"A reporter!" Sam griped as soon as he was inside. "Who called in a reporter?"

"An' when?" Jazz added. "If it was 'fore th' communications blackout, we may have a problem."

Sam started to answer, then stopped. Miles and Mikaela were still there, and Sergeant Epps off to one side with the twins studying the damage done to Sunstreaker's car form. His parents, however, were gone. When he looked at Mikaela, she gave a slight shake of her head. _Don't ask_, she mouthed. Sam sighed and turned away, just in time to see Jazz pull a face.

"So now destroyin' th' most evil thing in th' universe is a good excuse for disownin' your son?"

"Forgive us our failings, Jazz. We're only human." Epps snapped back, sounding annoyed. The saboteur shook his head helplessly.

"Maybe it's th' 'bot in me talkin'," he said. "But if I had someone that closely connected to me, I wouldn't give 'em up for nothin'." He pulled his sunglasses down and angled a pointed look towards the twins. Sam glanced between the saboteur and the sergeant in confusion. It sounded like they were continuing an old argument, but he couldn't remember them fighting before now.

"Someone's outside," Sideswipe put in suddenly. A moment later the reporter came around the corner.

"I'm still here," she said, peering closely at Jazz. She'd heard his comment about being a 'bot, Sam realized.

"I noticed." The Autobot had never been very warm to her in the first place, but now he was downright cold.

"I thought I ought to tell you," she continued, still staring at the saboteur who was beginning to noticeably chafe under her scrutiny. "The person who called in the tip? He actually didn't say your friend knew anything about the bridges in Ohio. What he said was that your friend was friends with transforming robots." And now she looked at the twins, her gaze lingering over Sunstreaker. "Sam, do you own a Camaro?"

Sam couldn't answer; his mouth had gone dry. Whoever had called her had known what they were talking about, had told her everything she needed to hang them with very little effort. The reporter tried to circle around the twins, possibly to see the damage done to the yellow twin, but Epps easily blocked her way.

"I just want to look," she said to his chest, which was about how high she reached on him.

"You see a 'for sale' sign?" the sergeant countered. He continued without waiting for an answer. "Then you don't need to look."

"Oh, come on," she laughed. "You can't own a car like those without enjoying being stared at. Whose are they, anyways?"

She could look all she wanted, Sam knew. The license plates and VINs would lead to an agency Simmons set up for just this purpose. Still, it was better to keep her away. Jazz's dislike was translating loud and clear to his fellow Autobots, and he could see Sunstreaker shifting as if preparing to lunge at the woman.

"Who said anythin' about robots?" Jazz asked, drawing her attention back to him. She shrugged.

"I can't tell you that," she answered sweetly. "Sam? Your Camaro?"

Sam mutely shook his head, not sure what he should say.

"It's at his house," Jazz said.

"We gave him a ride here," Epps tacked on, and instantly whatever disagreement they had vanished as they faced the reporter.

She looked at the two soldiers- one human and one Autobot- before sparing the twins one last glance. Then she sighed and reached into her purse.

"He said you might get difficult," she murmured. "Told me to play you this if you did." She produced a slim recorder and pressed play, and a voice started talking. Sam thought the voice on the recording sounded like a car salesman or a politician, slick and wordy and oozing false charm.

"That's Swindle!" Miles yelped. The reporter looked at him sharply. Fortunately Jazz was quick.

"Er!" he barked out. "That swindler lied to you, miss."

She frowned at that. "He didn't ask for any money, so technically you can't call him a swindler," she pointed out.

"Oh, there are many things we can call this particular person," Jazz answered darkly.

"Know him, do you?" She sounded irritated, no doubt thinking she'd been sent to harass them as punishment for something.

"You could say that." The saboteur was trying to usher her out now, pointedly keeping himself between the reporter and the twins. The two were still in car form but gave the impression of puppies straining at the ends of their leashes, as if they were only barely maintaining control.

"So who's Agent Simmons?" Sam had to give her credit; she was still trying. He also had to give Jazz credit, as the Autobot wasn't letting her gain an inch.

"No idea," he answered calmly, taking her elbow and guiding her out the door. "Sounds like something to talk to the FBI office about."

"So if I find an Agent Simmons, he won't know who you are?" The implication was clear: if Jazz was lying, she would make him pay.

"He'd better not," the saboteur said with an ironic laugh.

"All right," she said slowly, finally. "I suppose I should apologize."

"Here's a great apology: leave." He pushed her out the bay door and flicked the switch to shut it behind her. Sam opened his mouth to comment but the saboteur spun around and put one finger against his lips. He then pointed towards the twins.

After a few moments Sideswipe spoke up. "She's gone," he muttered quietly. "Or, she's out of my range at least."

"Good. Now, then, what the _hell_ was Swindle thinking?!" Epps turned towards Jazz. "Calling in a reporter… what's he playing at?"

"Confusion," Jazz answered grimly. "Th' less organized we are, th' more chances he has. It's him against th' universe now that he's got that Allspark piece, and he'll do anythin' he needs to win."

"Wonderful." Epps folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the closed door. "You don't think she's really gonna go bother Simmons?"

"I wish her luck in findin' him," Jazz muttered. "Even with Swindle helpin' her, Simmons ain't an easy guy to find."

"Especially if he's still in Ohio," Mikaela added. There was a long, thoughtful silence at that.

"Do you think we should tell him about you?" Sam asked Jazz. "I mean, if they have Megatron…"

"As Optimus said, if you know where they are or how to get in touch, you're welcome to it," Jazz answered.

Sam considered this for a moment. Then he sighed.

"I'm gonna go talk to my parents," he decided. Mikaela leaned against him, wrapping both her hands around one of his, and gave him a reassuring smile when he glanced at her.

"Yeah, your parents," Jazz muttered.

"Let it go, man," Epps ordered. The saboteur snorted and turned away, giving one last comment before Sam walked out.

"Humans are weird."

---

Starscream came online to pain.

Something was wrong, he thought distantly. His balance was off-center. He tried to run a scan to find out why but had to pause and sort through the various alarms going off in his CPU. Vaguely he attempted to shut off his pain receptors and was rewarded with another onslaught. Someone had hacked his CPU, he realized in alarm. They'd shut off his override controls.

He activated his optics slowly and found himself staring up at the sky. Late afternoon cast long shadows slicing across the ground, reducing visibility to an interesting game of hide-and-seek. The seeker grunted and shut his optics off, trying to remember what had happened. He'd been circling the area he'd last seen Swindle in, hoping to spot the merchant and get another shot at him. He thought he remembered flying over a train depot.

Trains…

"Oh slag," he muttered. Somewhere nearby, someone chuckled. Ignoring his serious misgivings, Starscream reactivated his optics and looked in the proper direction.

"Hello, Starscream," Astrotrain drawled unpleasantly. He was sitting on an overturned freight engine, fiddling with a piece of metal that looked suspiciously familiar. "Have a nice nap?"

"You shot me down?" the seeker asked in dismay, trying not to think about the twisted metal sheet that the triplechanger was playing with. He had a sickening feeling that he already knew what it was.

"You're lucky. Soundwave gave the order for you to be returned alive just before I killed you. However, he didn't say anything about alive and intact."

Starscream hesitated. Then he gave into the inevitable and glanced to either side. Right wing: dented and scratched but otherwise fine. Left wing…

"You ripped my wing off," the seeker spat. At that moment his hatred for the triplechanger outdid all others. Even Megatron had never gone so far as to actually rip one of his wings off. A seeker who couldn't fly was useless, and Megatron didn't tolerate uselessness. Not to mention Astrotrain was a fellow flyer, even if his bulky space-jet form was no match for Starscream's sleek and deadly fighter jet. No flyer should be willing to do such a thing to his own kind.

"Is that what this is?" Astrotrain studied his prize, then tossed it aside dismissively. He stood, towering over the seeker. "I also trashed your thrusters. This way you won't get any funny ideas about shooting me mid-flight. If Soundwave feels patching you up he's got his work cut out for him. However, don't count on him caring enough to help you. In fact, don't count on being alive long enough for it to matter."

"Coward can't even come get me himself?" Starscream growled.

"He's busy," Astrotrain shrugged. "Swindle's been entertaining himself down here, and Soundwave's slagged off at him big-time."

Somehow, despite all his plans to eliminate Swindle, Starscream felt a fondness for the merchant. At least one of them could hold their own against the almighty Soundwave. That only lasted a moment, though, as the seeker realized that Swindle's way of 'entertaining himself' was probably what had driven the ship-bound Decepticons onto the planet.

Then Astrotrain was pulling him up off the ground and the pain was back, doubled in intensity, and Starscream felt his body arch as he let out a wordless cry of pain. The triplechanger merely smirked and transformed into his jet mode. After a few moments the seeker managed to gasp out a quick observation.

"You aren't big enough to transport me," he panted. Astrotrain snorted.

"Then you'd better hold on," he answered smugly. Then he started up his engines and the vibrations sent all new pain jarring through the seeker's torn body. It proved overwhelming and Starscream felt himself sliding quickly back off-line.

His last thought was that at least, for fear of Soundwave's retribution, Astrotrain wouldn't drop him.

---

Pearl Goodman, reporter extraordinaire, stopped her car in front of the squat little building and stared at it in open dismay. What little information she'd cobbled together labeled it as some sort of military bunker. Without access to the internet, she couldn't say which branch owned it, or if it was even used for anything anymore. All she had to go on was what her informant had given her.

She pulled her cell phone out, already knowing what it was going to say. No signal, not even roaming. Landlines were down and there were no internet connections anywhere. It was a blackout, she thought. A communications blackout that effectively crippled the entire planet. And the worst thing was, no one could do anything, since the source was a mystery. It was suspiciously familiar to the blackout that preceded the 'government experiment' in Mission City a few months ago.

After a moment she dipped her hand back into her purse and pulled out a scrap of paper. On the back she'd written a number her informant had given her. Call anytime, he'd said. Day or night. Whether or not it should even be possible. That had struck her as odd then, but now she understood it a little better.

Pearl bit her lip, weighing her options. Then she flipped open her phone and dialed the number.

"Pearl," greeted the silk-smooth voice. "Good afternoon, or evening, I suppose. How has your day gone? Gotten better since we last spoke?"

"I talked to the kid," she answered, studying the building in front of her.

"Let me guess. He claimed to have no knowledge of any of it?"

"He barely said two words," Pearl muttered. "This other kid ran the whole conversation."

"Other kid." Here the person on the other end of the line actually sounded interested. "Describe this other kid."

"Black, longish hair, average height and build." She glanced in the rear-view mirror. For a moment she thought she'd seen something. "He looks like another teen at first, but he seems a lot older once you get past appearance."

And he'd made a comment about being a 'bot. He'd looked human to her calculating eye, and he certainly didn't fit the image of 'giant robots that turn into cars', but she couldn't forget what he'd said.

"And his eyes? Did you even see them?"

"No, he wore sunglasses the whole time."

"Jazz," her informant mused. "So I was right."

Pearl chewed on her lower lip again, once more checking her mirrors. There was something out there, she was confident of it by now. However, she had other things to focus on. She'd needed someone to sound things off of, true, but she also had the feeling that this person knew a good deal more of what was going on than he'd originally claimed. Give him a few details, and he might just let enough slip for her to begin seeing the big picture.

"So your name's Swindle, huh?" she asked conversationally.

"Ye- what? No!" The voice stumbled over its words, trying too many denials all at once, then suddenly stopped with a groan. "Oh, slag it all. Yes, it is."

"My God," Pearl breathed. "You're one of them."

Swindle laughed, a dark and alarming sound. " 'One of them' being the robots? Yes, I am. And you're very lucky- if it weren't for the fact that I have to keep my head down, I'd have to kill you for figuring it out. You're not that useful, and I'm tired of… what's the term? Ah yes. I'm tired of being pwned by you humans."

Pearl let out a slightly hysterical high-pitched giggle at the clear abuse of internet speak. She was gripping her phone so the plastic casing was creaking under her hand. Death threats were something all reporters got. This wasn't a threat, though. It was a simple, resigned truth, and more importantly, it was coming from a giant robot. She hadn't been prepared for this when she'd first taken this job, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to keep chasing this story if it meant having car-former robots out to get her.

"I see I've had proved my point. Keep your questions to yourself, Pearl, and I won't have to hurt you. Are we clear?"

Pearl muttered something that might have been and agreement as she swung her car door open. Swindle laughed again and hung up, the phone line clicking in her ear and then going dead. She barely paid any attention as she snapped the phone shut and tucked it into her purse. As an afterthought she added the paper with the number. Maybe it could be traced, if someone figured out how to get the internet working again.

There was one black SUV sitting in front of the bunker. It radiated heat as she walked past, a blasting wave of stifling heat that indicated it had been there for several hours at least. Pearl walked right up to the door and frowned at it- a thick slab of steel attached to the concrete walls by heavy hinges on one side and seven different locks on the other. The locks were rusted; at least two of them looked more like decoration than anything useful. Hesitantly she lifted a hand and knocked.

For several minutes there was nothing, even when she threw herself against the door while yelling at the top of her lungs. Then the door was yanked open just enough for a man to peer out.

"Wha- who are you? And how did you find this place?" he demanded sharply. Pearl pushed the door open a little wider and slithered in.

"If I were to say that there's a giant robot out to kill me, what would you do?" she asked. Begging protection off the military seemed to be the safest option right now. The man's face went pale and he glanced over his shoulder, then caught her elbow and tugged her along the hallway.

"What do you know about these robots?" he tossed over his shoulder. Pearl stumbled, then paused long enough to kick her heels off.

"Not much," she admitted. "One called me, and he told me about the rest. He showed me a video of the robot that might be responsible for the bridge collapse in Cincinnati."

"Name?" came the next question.

"Pearl Go- oh, him? Swindle."

"Not one I know, which means Decepticon," the man muttered. "When did he call you, and how did he show you this video?"

So Pearl explained as best she could, although once she compiled it all she didn't have much outside of gut feelings and educated guesses. These seemed good enough for her guide, however, and he listened without interrupting once. When she fumbled her way to a halt he nodded once.

"I'm Simmons," he said tersely. "Sam Witwicky is indeed involved, although not how you'd expect. The two Lamborghinis were Autobots, meaning they're on our side. But this guy you talked to at the warehouse- describe him."

She summarized him the same way she had for Swindle. Simmons muttered something under his breath and turned away. They had gone down two or three sets of stairs and were now entering what looked like the friendly side of an interrogation room. This was emphasized by the man handcuffed to his chair beyond the window.

"Swindle called him Jazz," Pearl offered, and Simmons froze.

"Son of a bitch," he said, scowling at the window. "Son of a bitch. Bastard was right."

"Is something wrong?" she asked quietly, and Simmons snorted.

"Yeah," he muttered darkly. "Something's wrong. It's all going to hell in a goddamn handbasket, _again_. Only this time we not only have giant alien robots invading, we also have dead giant alien robots who aren't staying dead. Or robots, for that matter."

Pearl stared at him, eyes wide, and he shook his head as he turned away from the window. "Trust me, this is not a good time to be getting involved in this. Best for you to just go home and pretend this didn't happen."

"Go home?" Pearl demanded, scandalized. "Go home?! There are giant robots running around, trying to kill humans, and all you can say is go home?"

Simmons turned a bleak gaze on her. "You're a reporter, aren't you?" he asked, sounding very broken. Pearl gave a stiff nod.

"Who is he?" she asked, glancing towards the prisoner. He was a menacing-looking specimen, and not just in size alone. Something about him sent chills down her spine.

"Wanted for murder," Simmons answered dismissively. "One at the moment, but that's only because we can't find all the bodies. Not a nice man."

"And average murderers now get dragged out to military bunkers in the middle of the desert?" Pearl turned an angry glare on Simmons. "He's one of them too, isn't he?"

Simmons hesitated, then jerked his chin up a notch in defiance. "Look, miss, I don't actually have to explain anything to you. You were foolish enough to go chasing down something that you should've left well alone, and now you're whining to me to spare you the consequences. Well, guess what. I've never given anyone a handout before and I don't intend to start now. That man is a murderer. End of story."

Pearl groaned in frustration and turned away to study the prisoner once more. He had his head tilted to one side, she noticed. As if he were listening to something only he could hear.

And then the world exploded.

---

Ravage tore through the building, using his rail gun to loosen any stubborn pieces. He was too big to fit through the hallways and too small to use his size as an indiscriminant wrecking ball. The best he could do was weaken the structural integrity and try to bring the building down that way. He'd sent two humans running already but had ignored them; his orders were to destroy the spark signal, not toy with humans.

And then he was through, a key wall crumbling before him, and he sprang into the room. A human sat at a table, and while Ravage was no expert on human expressions, this one looked utterly unconcerned about the intruder. In fact, the thing almost looked bored for a moment. Then it leaned forward.

"Soundwave is on-planet?" it asked in a familiar voice, and Ravage snapped his mouth shut.

"Megatron?" he asked finally, and the human smirked.

"I seem to be going through this scene a lot recently," he muttered to himself. "Is Soundwave on-planet?"

"Yes," Ravage answered slowly.

"Good. Take me to him."

"My orders are to destroy the source of the spark signal."

"That would be me," Megatron drawled. "I think Soundwave might be willing to make an exception this time. So help me with these," he lifted his hands and indicated the chain that ran between them. "And get me out of here."

Ravage took a step forward and ran a few basic scans. Now that he was this close, he could easily identify the spark. He reached out with one cautious claw and broke the chain.

"Finally," Megatron muttered. Then he stood up, took the chair he had been sitting on, and pitched it through the nearby mirror. The mirror shattered and the chair went through into a room beyond. As Ravage turned, he saw the door swing shut.

"But before we go anywhere," his leader said darkly, "I have an assignment for you."

He paused, and Ravage looked over at him. The human was smiling in a manner that erased any lingering doubts as to his identity.

"First," Megatron said almost to himself. "I have some humans I need dead."

---

"What the hell _was_ that thing?" Pearl gasped out. She took the last set of stairs three at a time- nothing like a robot cat trying to kill you to encourage exercise- and turned the corner. The door to freedom was at the end of this hallway. Simmons altered his long-legged pace enough for her to keep up.

"Not a clue," he said grimly. "Decepticon would be a good bet, though."

"What about the others?" she tried. There had been other people here, she remembered. Simmons merely shrugged. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and headed towards the SUV. Pearl made as if to walk past him to her car, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. Before she could slap him the cat thing leapt out of the ruins of the building.

The two humans both ducked behind the SUV, although as far as hiding spots went they couldn't have picked a more obvious one. The robot hissed loudly before launching itself at Pearl's car. After a moment the dark head rose, fire-red eyes scanning the parking lot.

"Get in," Simmons ordered sharply, opening the door and pushing her in. He slid into the backseat and clambered into the driver's seat from there, starting up the engine before he was even in the seat and slamming the car into drive. He then twisted the wheel around and pointed the nose of the SUV at the cat-bot. The thing leapt gracefully away from the fiery remains of Pearl's car and stood in the middle of the road. A panel in its side opened and a nasty-looking gun rose up.

"Get down," the agent ordered harshly. Pearl sent him a wide-eyed glance.

"You aren't serious?" she half-asked. Simmons placed on hand on top of her head and pushed her down, behind the dashboard. She sat up immediately just as the man slammed on the gas and shot forward. The cat braced itself and the barrel of the gun began to spin. Pearl lost her courage at the sight and dropped back down.

Glass exploded over her head. Bullets tore up the headrest and the seat, ripping the upholstery and sending bits of white stuffing flying. She caught sight of a starburst of red off to her left and Simmons grunted. There was an endless half second of silence, then a _clang_! A dark silhouette blotted out the sunlight, then was gone. Metal shrieked and ripped and glass shattered and something screamed-

And then there was blessed silence. Pearl hesitantly sat up, then glanced out the rear windshield. The cat thing was an unmoving smear of blackness in the road, rapidly dwindling. The prisoner was walking over to it, taking his own sweet time and looking not the slightest bit worried. Then they were around a bend and cat-bot and man were gone. Pearl breathed out a sigh of relief and turned to regard Simmons. He was white-faced, jaw set and hands gripping the steering wheel as though he was afraid it might run away.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and he grunted again. After a moment he reached up and touched his right side. His fingers came away stained a dark red. Like wine, her brain thought idiotically, but thicker and darker.

"You're bleeding," she said stupidly. Simmons barked out a pained laugh.

"Bad habit of mine, bleeding when I'm shot. I tried to quit, but you know how it is."

"You need to go to the hospital." Pearl tried to be firm here. She had no idea how badly hurt he was, but she was pretty sure that being shot called for more than just a band-aid and Neosporin.

"Yeah, I do. However, where I'm actually going is Tranquility." Simmons yanked his suit jacket off, revealing a fist-sized splash of redness over his ribs. He glanced at it nonchalantly. "Grazed me. Nothing serious. And those 'bots have a lot of explaining to do."

Pearl sat back in her seat, trying not to lean too far back, and stared at her hands. "You saved my life," she said quietly.

"I did, huh?" Simmons glanced at where the rearview mirror should be and grunted when it turned out to be missing. "Well, I guess there are a few perks to this new job. My old gig, I never got to play hero."

"And what about me? Am I just going home?"

"They know about you. Better not to risk it." He tugged on his tie, finally untying it and slipping it off. Pearl began to look around for something to bandage the wound with, but the car may as well have just rolled off the lot. "Look at it this way," Simmons continued. "You're getting the story of your life here."

Pearl considered that, then laughed. "Yeah," she agreed hollowly. "I guess I am."

And they drove on in silence.


End file.
